


Vows from a Dagger

by triedunture



Series: To Know You Anywhere [3]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Coming Out, Consensual Somnophilia, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fake Marriage, Family Feels, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meddling Kids, Multi, Post-Canon, Public Display of Affection, Shapeshifting, Sibling Incest, Sleep Sex, Space Opera, Temporary Character Death, Vaginal Sex, Weddings, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 109,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: After Ragnarok, Thor and Loki must figure out how to lead their people into an uncertain future. Children who need magic lessons, secrets, betrayal, more secrets, questionable science, operatic space adventures, wardrobe changes, a fake marriage, and the poetic edda of a trickster.





	1. Chapter 1

As the days tick by—though days are a strange thing in space with no suns to rise or set—Loki notices that the quarters he shares with Thor are getting a tad cluttered.

There are several vials that Loki has found on board, personal necessities that begin to line the glass-topped vanity in the corner of the room. Hair tonic, perfumed oils, varnish for fingernails, creams that combat dry skin. (Dry skin is a serious problem; an environment of recycled air is murder on one's complexion.) Besides these things, Loki owns several sets of leathers and silks that he'd seen fit to bring along before leaving Sakaar. Also a few different helms, bracers, capes, and boots. It's a paltry collection compared to the one Loki used to own but so few Asgardians escaped the destruction with more than the tunics on their backs that Loki's wardrobe now constitutes, he's certain, the largest of anyone aboard. It spills from the tiny armoire that's built into the hull, glimmering trinkets and jeweled rings scattering whenever some elusive item hides itself in the very back.

(There is one possession that does not take up any noticeable space: a glowing blue cube stashed in a secret compartment in the wall, sealed with invisible runes drawn from Loki's seidr.)

And then there's Thor's bric-a-brac, sitting in haphazard piles on every available surface and the floor. Computer tablets and parchments and schematics that threaten to send Loki's few things tumbling from the glass-topped vanity to the carpet. They never learned to clean up after themselves, is the problem. A lifetime of servants means the knowledge of how to make a bed is lost on them.

"I don't see the point anyway," Thor says with furrowed brow while they survey the jumble of blankets and pillows they've managed to cobble together. It doesn't look at all like the neat beds they enjoyed in their youth. "We're just going to undo it when we go to sleep tonight." His eye cuts to Loki at the word _sleep_ as if daring him to substitute another.

Loki doesn't take the bait, only agrees that it is silly, and so they give up on bedmaking. They make feeble attempts at tidying but fail at that too. Loki knows the theory behind keeping a clean boudoir: a place for everything, and the will to put there. But it seems so trivial with all he and Thor must attend to, and so he doesn't use his precious time for these mundane tasks. The quarters become cluttered with no real sign of resolving into order. Their clothing and boots tangle together in the armoire, the detritus of their lives sifted irreconcilably in the little room. It grates on Loki's nerves at first, for he considers himself too refined for such an existence, but after several weeks of hard, tedious work aboard the ship (passenger lists to be made and sorted; food and water stores to be evaluated; vital tasks like healing to be assigned) Loki finds himself entering their quarters at the end of a day and crawling into the messy nest they share, surrounded by sheets that smell of the two of them mingled, and he is very pleased with it. Silently, self-indulgently pleased.

He is on his way to that very bed, in fact, when he hears hushed voices up ahead in the dark of the corridor. The twists and turns of their new home often make one think there is privacy when actually none exists. Loki slows to listen to the whispers of two common folk, an old man and an even older woman. 

"—not right, I should think, keeping him about. A dangerous creature," says the thin, high voice of the woman. "Like a wild animal."

The man grunts in agreement. "And now with his hooks in the King? Whispering in his ear? It's only a matter of time, that's what I say." 

Loki takes a moment to adjust the fall of his tunic—though it is impeccable already—before striding around the corner, sweeping by the two whisperers, allowing the hem of his cloak to brush them as he passes. They gasp at his sudden appearance, murmuring _Lord Advisor_ and _My Prince_ as they bow with overdone deference. Loki does not even spare them a glance.

"Good evening, _kind_ people," he says, and moves on. 

They are right to be afraid, he thinks as he uses the palm of his hand to unlock the door to his room. He would certainly be if he were in their position. And anyway, it doesn't matter what doddering old folk say in the shadows to each other. Their opinion isn't worth the spittle it takes to form their bits of gossip. 

Still, when he's finally inside his quarters, a deep tiredness overtakes him, and Loki decides that's as good a reason as any to retreat into his little nest.

This is where Thor finds him, bootless and with his cloak half shrugged off, wrapped in their bed linens. Loki rouses himself from his thoughts as the door slides open and Thor steps in, looking just as exhausted as Loki feels. His brother, his King, shares with him a knowing look before going to their cluttered vanity and pouring them both a drink. The cups have not been rinsed recently, but Loki imagines whatever sort of spirit they hold must keep them rather sanitary. Sakaarian liquor is potent enough to strip paint, after all.

Loki accepts the cup from Thor's outstretched fingers and lifts it in a slight salute before swallowing a mouthful. Suppressing a grimace at the taste, Loki says, "You go first. What is weighing on you today, Your Highness?"

Thor shakes his head and sits gingerly on the edge of their bed. His shoulders are too tight even for the ruler of a lost people. "I've been speaking for hours, it seems. You go." He drinks while Loki sits up against the mound of pillows.

"Very well." He pulls the remaining half of his cloak away, his shoulders bared to the stale air of their cabin. He should not tell Thor about the overheard conversation. Thor will not appreciate the absurdity of the story. Best to stick to lighter topics. He clears his throat. "I spent the day mostly in the company of the cooks, investigating the remaining food stores. We found a box of sealed packets of what looked like raw venison but smelled like berries." He makes a face. "It tasted of neither. Can you imagine sturgeon eggs mixed with buttermilk and a little grass? It was a bit like that." He shrugs and continues, "We weren't poisoned, though, so that's something. The cooks think perhaps they can fashion it into something less vile, given time. Salt helps." He takes another sip of his drink, the liquid thick and oily on his tongue. He stares down into his glass. "Damn Sakaar and its luxuries. This ship is stocked for a weekend pleasure cruise, not a six month journey."

Thor makes a sound, something between a sob and a groan, and his hand comes up to rub back and forth over his shorn hair. It's a new gesture Loki has noticed more often these days, a sign that Thor is troubled, almost as if he wishes he still had his long hair to pull in his frustration. Loki sets his cup on the floor and moves closer to his brother, hand hovering over his back. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks. He thinks briefly, stupidly, that perhaps the common people have been speaking with their King, pleading with him to shove his traitor-advisor into the nearest airlock and be rid of him. Loki is not quite ready to go, and certainly does not wish to depart in such an undignified manner, and so he hopes that is not what worries his brother.

"Six months." Thor slumps forward, arms resting on his thighs. "I would battle a thousand Helas if it meant our ship would reach Midgard in six months." 

A pit of ice forms in Loki's stomach at this pronouncement. "You have been meeting with the builders and star-seers," he says, understanding now. "What do they say? How much time—?"

"Years. Centuries. A millenia." Thor throws his hands in the air. "Perhaps longer. They cannot say for certain, but it is more time than we'd hoped."

Loki's mind whirls. Perhaps this is to his benefit. After all, he is not looking forward to returning to Midgard, where even the short memories of humans would recall his misdeeds. But a millennia is a long time, and so much can happen between here and Midgard, if Thor's opinion can be swayed. They might even find a more suitable place to establish their new country…. 

Yes, let the tesseract, which could conceivably have them on Midgard tomorrow, sit unused in its hiding place, insurance against the unending blackness of space.

Loki lets his hand rest on the bunched muscles of Thor's back and says, "If we must sail for a thousand years, then we will sail for a thousand years. Asgardians live long lives. We will make due."

Thor shakes his head. "You said it yourself: this barge was not meant for such a journey. Too slow, too ill-supplied. Many of the folk here will not live to see Midgard at this rate." He swallows. "The children on board—"

"We will make due," Loki repeats with a sort of gentleness that feels foreign on his tongue. His hand trails down Thor's spine, rubbing at the tense knots on either side. "The children will be provided for, one way or another. We will merely trade for supplies as we go."

A bitter laugh tumbles from Thor's lips. "Trade _what_? We have nothing left."

"We have our wits and the talents of a proud people," Loki says. "Do not be discouraged."

Thor sighs, reaches back over his shoulder to grasp Loki's hand, bringing it to clutch over his clavicle. "But the children," he says again. "They share this ship with a dozen kinds of people from many realms. While I am glad to have the company, I fear that after such a long journey, our young ones will no longer know what it is to be of Asgard."

"They can be taught our stories."

"Not just the stories. I mean, who will bring up the next generation when we've lost so many?" Thor looks over to Loki. "I've been thinking. The Valkyrie can be charged with taking a handful of girls to form a new battalion. To keep that tradition alive." 

Loki shifts uneasily at the glint in his brother's eye. "Entirely sensible. It will keep them busy, use the time well."

"And I was also thinking," Thor says, "that someone will need to train the young magic-users in their craft." He stares very pointedly. "Someone powerful and beautiful, perhaps?"

Loki reclaims his hand as if burned. "If you really think—"

"Who else? You are the most accomplished master of magic we have."

"Me? Instructing children? No, Thor." Loki thinks of the two whispering busybodies in the corridor. The horrors they would accuse him of…. 

He stands, taking his cup from the floor as he goes, and stalks over to their collection of liquor bottles to refill it. His hand distinctly does not shake as he pours. "It wouldn't be prudent."

He hears Thor regain his feet with a groan, listens to his footfalls on the carpet, getting closer. Thor's hands close over his shoulders as his voice comes into his ear. "Please consider it, at least. It would be a great relief to me to know that our Mother's legacy will live on."

Oh, now that is just low, bringing Mother into this. Loki squeezes his eyes shut with a sigh so he does not have to see Thor's pleading gaze in the mirror before him. That alone is enough to topple mountains.

"I will think about it," he says, which they both know means he will agree to it. "Damn you." 

Thor's arms wrap around him until he is quite encased by his brother, by his scent, by the smile he can feel pressing behind his ear. "Thank you, Loki. You've no idea what it means to me."

"Well, I do serve at the pleasure of my King," Loki says, and twists in Thor's arms so that he can press a kiss to that brow, so furrowed as of late. They have both had enough of that, he decides. Time for some lightness. "What pleasures would Your Majesty enjoy tonight, I wonder?"

The next moment finds Loki on his knees, unlacing Thor's breeches while Thor's thick fingers comb through his long hair. His name drifts down to his ears in a sigh, and a glance upwards shows him the deep affection etched into his brother's face. 

Loki is very near to being unmoored by that look. "Use my mouth." His fingers wrap around Thor's girth and draw his cock, already hard, out of his flies. "Go on." He opens his lips wide and looks up at Thor in a posture of obscene obedience.

Thor answers with a growl. His hands tighten in Loki's hair, fisting in the loose locks. With a thrust of his hips he fucks into Loki's waiting mouth, cock heavy on his tongue. Loki closes his eyes and enjoys, for the moment, having nothing to do but act as a warm, wet place for the royal prick to be housed. He can't even move so much as an inch; Thor's hands grip the back of his skull to keep him in place as his thrusts become a pounding, harsh rhythm. It is good that he can give this to Thor, he thinks as a thread of drool works its way from the corner of his lips; the man is wound so tightly, and regular release will keep him pliant. Or at least, somewhat easier to live with. 

He wonders what the commoners would say if they knew he had his claws in Thor in this particular fashion. Or did they already suspect? Did they whisper to each other crude guesses about what the royal brothers did behind their locked door?

When Thor spends with a bitten-off shout, Loki swallows his seed without complaint. A trickle escapes, but when Thor at last pulls his cock out of his mouth, he chases it with his tongue and swipes the rest away with the tips of his fingers. He is busy sucking them clean when he feels the weight of Thor's stare still upon him, and looks up. His fingers leave his mouth with a pop, and he says, "What? Did I miss any?"

Thor's hands gentle on the back of his head, caress down his hair to cup the back of his neck. His broad grin is telling; he's about to say something terribly embarrassing. "I was only thinking how lovely you are," he murmurs. 

Loki scoffs and makes to stand. "Really, Thor, these weak overtures of yours—"

"Let me finish," Thor chides, and tucks a strand of wayward hair back in place behind Loki's ear as he gains his feet. "I was thinking how lovely you are," he kisses his brother's wet lips, saying against them, "when you are finally quiet for one fucking moment."

It takes Loki a moment to register the affront, but when he does, he responds with a vicious elbow to Thor's midsection. Thor, laughing, catches it easily and dances backward out of his range, softening cock stuck against his thigh. 

"We must stuff your mouth full more often, I think," he says, and Loki pursues him with a purpose. "The peace it would bring me!"

"You bring yourself nothing but war, talking like this," Loki hisses. He barrels into Thor and takes him down onto the bed, where they tumble like children on the sparring grounds. It is strangely gratifying to hear Thor's thunderous laughter when just minutes ago he'd been bent under the weight of his rule. Loki makes a show of seating himself victorious astride Thor's hips and slapping at his red face. "You would have me silent, would you? Just for that, I'll never shut up!"

"Be still, brother." Thor catches Loki's wrists in his hands, and Loki allows it. "You know it's only a jest."

"Is it?" Loki sniffs. 

"Of course." Thor places a kiss on his knuckles. "I love your voice as I love the rest of you."

Loki does not know what to say to that, so he only looks away with a belated click of his tongue.

"Allow me to apologize." Thor rolls his hips in suggestion. "You saw to me so well. How would you have me see to you?"

Where normally Loki would gladly take such an offer, this night he finds, blinking, that he does not necessarily want to. "It's all right," he says, though the words sound so alien. "I don't need anything. Not at the moment." 

"No?" Thor's hand reaches up to cup his face. "Are you certain?"

"Quite." He fights the instinct to turn his face into that palm, to let Thor hold him. He shifts off his brother and prepares for bed, shedding his clothes in little piles about the room. "It's only, I'm so tired. The day has been a long one. Sleep, I think, is all I require."

"Then you shall have it." Thor twists free from his own clothes, and because he has fewer of them, is finished before Loki and awaits him with arms wide open. "Come here."

Loki goes to him, hating how easily he crawls into bed and settles at his side. Has he really been tamed, then? Brought to heel by nothing more than the promise of a warm embrace in the night and sweet, meaningless words? Surely this can't be all it takes to defang a serpent. He rests his cheek on the rise of Thor's chest and does not close his eyes even when the lights dim to soothing blackness. 

Thor must sense his wakefulness, for his arm around Loki's shoulder tightens. "You are not still angry about my poor joke? I did not mean it, truly." 

Perhaps if I was muzzled every moment of every day, Loki thinks, our people would not fear me poisoning your mind. But he cannot voice this, so instead he says, "I know you did not." He kisses the first patch of skin his mouth finds, the point of Thor's nipple. "Sleep now. It is late."

He shuts his eyes and resolves to keep them closed until he wakes, and so does not stir when Thor says, dreamily, as if on the edge of sleep, "The people have not had time to properly mourn with all the work there's been to do. We should set aside tomorrow as a day of remembrance."

Loki hums and nestles in closer to Thor. "Someone will have to explain why we can't have pyres lit inside the ship."

It's the small rumble of Thor's laugh, steady beneath his ear, that lulls Loki into sleep at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a funeral! Kids! Fire? Lots of things. 
> 
> I am a little nervous and thinking what have I gotten myself into with this story, so if you'd like to leave any supportive cheers for me that would be very, very kind.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, as Thor had promised, is declared a mourning period. The ship's inhabitants—Asgardian and otherwise—gather in the large open deck that has become known as the Great Hall, though it is neither a hall nor great. Thor says a few words, ones that Loki had helped him craft. Nothing too taxing, just a simple sentiment from the King regarding their shared grief. 

However, Thor ends his little speech with, "And now my brother, the Royal Advisor, will be asking those with magical prowess to aid him in creating illusionary pyres that will not cause danger in our new home," which is definitely not in the script. Loki shoots him a glare from where he stands at the right side of the makeshift throne, and Thor gazes back in contentment. Low, for Loki's ears only, he says, "It would be a good time, I think, to find the children who might possess some ability and others who might help in their training."

"Of course, my King," Loki drawls, and sweeps into the crowd. He is glad he's wearing his most staid tunic of simple black wool with only a high collar of emerald at the throat for color. Whatever happens, no one can fault his choice of raiment. A few of the people murmur as he passes, and all part for him, but no one steps forward when he asks, "Who here can assist me? Can anyone manage a simple fire illusion?" He walks deeper into the crowd, nearly all the way to the back of the room. "It will take but a moment. Anyone at all." Annoyance tugs at his thoughts; he knows the commoners do not love him on the whole but this is ridiculous, to refuse to do this one simple thing if it involves their Trickster Prince. But then Loki realizes that he does not sense any strong, pulsing seidrs in the Great Hall. He had not considered it before, but now he knows for certain: there are no trained magic-wielders left. He is alone. 

The thought stops him in his tracks. Then, as a fresh whisper of concern from the crowd reaches his ears, Loki holds his head high and asks the nearest Asgardian, "Where are the children, please?" 

She points toward a corner, and Loki makes his way there to find a cluster of wide-eyed ragamuffins, their braids untidy and their clothing, torn. Orphans much like Thor and I, Loki thinks. They stare at him with varying degrees of mistrust and awe. 

Best to get right to it, then. "Are any of you capable of this?" he asks, and opens his palm to reveal his seidr dancing in a lick of dark green flame. 

The children move closer despite themselves, trying to get a better look at the illusion. Loki lowers his hand to make it easier. One bold urchin swipes her hand through the fire and squeals with delight when she is not burned. 

"It's not real," Loki explains. "It's only a little show. A manifestation of power. Do any of you have it?" 

The assembled group of babes look at each other with doubt in their eyes. Not one of them speaks up. Loki sighs. 

"If any of you have ever felt—" He closes his hand, extinguishing the flame, and clutches it to his belly. "Perhaps there is something inside you, almost in your stomach, that feels like it needs to be let out. Perhaps you've felt different from your brothers and sisters in a way you cannot describe in words." He looks each child in their unblinking eyes, searching for some familiar spark. "Please, if you could just try. Hold out your hands…."

The children obey his command with shattering swiftness. Loki nods and glances behind his shoulder, suddenly aware that their audience has crowded closer. Even Thor has come down from the throne to be nearer to the proceedings. They all sense the importance of this moment. If he cannot find any other magic-adepts in this little knot of children, then the tradition of Asgardian magic dies with him. If Loki can be called an Asgardian at all. 

Loki returns his attention to the brood of hopefuls. "Good. Now." He holds out his palm in demonstration along with them. "If you can find that light inside, let it come out and—" The green flame flickers back to life in his hand. "Allow it to show itself."

A few of the children stare at their own hands till they are nearly red in the cheeks with concentration, huffing and puffing with the effort, while others only flap their palms open and closed before looking to Loki with confusion on their little faces. 

"Don't try to force it. That won't get you very far," Loki chides. He tries to remember the words of encouragement his Lady Mother used to murmur to him when he was just a novice. "It's like water. It will come if you let it. Like rain, or tears. You need only—" 

There is a collective gasp then, and Loki's eyes dart to the cause of it. In the back of the clutch of children stand two small girls, both barely old enough to read and write (if such children have ever been taught to read or write). One girl is thin and wiry, pale as milk, with hair a deep mahogany. In her hands she holds a blue flame. The girl next to her is dark-skinned, taller, her seidr fire a brilliant yellow. 

"That is very good, very good indeed," he tells the pair, moving closer. "Have you done this before?" 

The milky girl looks at the other, who seems to speak for them both. "Not on purpose. We didn't know what it meant." Then, she belatedly adds, "My prince."

Loki asks their names and is told by the taller girl that she is called Thorunn—and oh, he can practically feel Thor's grin at hearing the diminutive of his own name spoken by the child—while the other goes by—

"Droplaug?" Loki repeats in astonishment. "Are you sure?"

The girls extinguish their flames and reach for each other's hands, the littler one edging closer to Thorunn under the interrogation.

"Yes, my prince. I would know. We are sisters," Thorunn says. 

Loki cocks his head and looks at the mismatched picture they present. "Are you, now?"

"Yes, sire," Thorunn says with a wonderful bite to her words. Her golden eyes move over Loki's shoulder, and he follows her gaze to find Thor standing very close behind him. "Sometimes siblings do not take after each other, is that not so?"

A startled laugh nearly escapes Loki's lips. He likes this little sorceress. "But _Droplaug_ ," he repeats, turning back to them. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but to choose such a name for a defenseless child who, I should think, hasn't done anyone the least bit of harm—" 

"Loki," Thor says with a warning in his voice. 

Right. The common folk are watching. Musn't be cruel to the orphans. Loki bites his lip, then says, "What I mean is, it would be an honor if you would assist me in creating more of these fires so our people might be able to mourn properly. Will you do that?" 

The sisters share a look that must be their own form of wordless communion, because after a moment Thorunn speaks for them both again. "You will have to show us how, sire." 

"I couldn't desire anything more," he says, and is surprised to find that he means it. 

It takes a bit of coaxing on Loki's part, and frustration on all sides, but eventually Loki and the two girls build a line of funeral pyres down the center of the Great Hall, alternating their handiwork so that the colored flames appear in a neat pattern of green, blue, and yellow over and over again. The common people seem very satisfied to have the customary fire, though it might not really burn, and the alien beings nod approvingly at the display. 

Loki stands aside with his two small charges and they watch as each pyre is claimed. Remnants of families join together to cast their offerings into the flames, to sing their dirges, to remember those that were lost. They hold hands. They weep. The Valkyrie, he notices, stalks away from the Hall without participating. He does not blame her; he's seen what she's endured. To lose a shield-wife is to suffer a loss so deep, Loki cannot fathom it. 

He turns away. "Would you like to learn to do more with your magic?" he asks the sisters. "My brother has a notion that I could teach you, but only if you'll have me as a tutor." 

The two girls seem to consider this for a moment before Droplaug asks in a small voice, "What if we're no good at it?" 

Beggars can't be choosers, Loki thinks, but instead says, "Mark my words, without a doubt, you and your sister will be the best magic-users in the kingdom one day." You'll be the only magic-users in the kingdom when I'm gone, he neglects to say. 

Thor joins them then, slapping Loki on the back, slinging his arm across his shoulders. He is delighted; his grin says as much. Loki makes a quick gesture at his own face, the seriousness of his expression, to remind Thor of the occasion. Thor must understand, for he adopts a more fitting frown. "Excellent work, ladies," he says to the girls. "Would you like to share a pyre with my brother and I?"

The two sisters exchange a wild look, and Thorunn says, "We are not royalty, My King," as if she's not sure Thor understands such a concept. 

"Nonsense. There's no law that says you cannot mourn beside us. You have done a great service for myself and these people. And once Loki begins instructing you in the magical arts, I imagine we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Unless," Thor's eye crinkles in thought, "you would rather rejoin your friends?" 

Loki swears Thor could use that handsome face to great effect in the diplomatic realm if only he understood how. As it stands, the girls shyly accept his invitation and stand with them at the head of the Great Hall, gathered 'round a green fire that gives no warmth. They sing their songs and speak the names of their dead. They kneel and join hands around the fire, as is custom. For Loki, the mourning blurs by as if it's already a memory painted in unsure hues. Is he really feeling grief or merely reciting the proper words in the expected places? He can't rightly say, though the shape of his Mother's name does stick in his throat. In that moment, Thor's fingers tighten around his right hand. Droplaug squeezes his left. Loki swallows, thanks them with a quick glance, and decides that if this is a pageant, he is at least acting it very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan was to post one chapter a week but this thing has become so huge that I may need to go a bit faster or else we'll be here all year. Let me know if that is of interest to you? 
> 
> Up next: a small interlude; lessons begin.


	3. Chapter 3

Several days and many, many tedious lessons later, Loki comes back to their shared quarters to find Thor already there, sitting up in bed and squinting at some kind of proclamation with his one good eye. He looks up and gives an easy smile.

"How are our girls?" he asks with an overabundance of cheer. 

Loki lets the stormcloud of frustration roll off his body. "They are not ours," he bites out, then stalks over to the tiny desk in the corner and throws himself onto the stool to hunch over the collection of scribbles laid out there among his vials and pots of tonics. "They're certainly not mine. Neither one can perform the simplest of transmutations. We wasted hours today on attempts to improve their tunics. _My_ students, dressed in rags." Loki gives a disgusted snort as he pages through his piles of lists, diagrams, riddles, looking for anything that might help drill the correct incantation into Thorunn and Droplaug's heads. Loki had insisted they practice their craft within full view of everyone so there would be no mysteries surrounding his young charges. So they'd stood there in the Great Hall and made absolutely no headway no matter how firmly Loki instructed them. The other children had pointed at them and whispered behind their little hands. Horrible, the entire thing.

He hears Thor shifting on the protesting bed behind him, tenses as he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Loki, they're nine years old," his brother says. 

"Yes, and?" Loki flicks over another piece of parchment. "When I was their age, I could turn you into a dog. And I could turn dogs into horses. And horses into—" 

"You were exceptional," Thor says. His hand slides down the length of Loki's arm, his other mirroring it, until he has pinned Loki's wrists in place on a pile of papers. "Not everyone will learn at the pace you did." 

It is difficult to remain angry when one feels such an urge to preen, Loki thinks. He twists around on the stool to remove Thor from his person and says, "I was fairly brilliant, wasn't I?"

"As you are still," Thor says, then thins his lips in a way that speaks of treading on eggshells. "Of course, even the wisest, most talented among us can observe that there is always room for improvement? Especially when it comes to instructing others?"

Loki's eyes narrow. "Are you saying I am somehow lacking as a teacher?" 

Thor's face, which has never been prone to dissembling, goes through a painful contortion of barely concealed agreement. His mouth opens wide, as does his eye, as he fights to find reassuring words. "You—? No! As a teacher, you're— Well—" 

Loki stares up at him, unimpressed. 

Thor sighs. "So you're not the best teacher." Over Loki's disgusted scoff, he adds, "You're very new at it still! Maybe if you had a bit more patience with the children…?"

"You would have me coddle them," Loki snaps. 

"I don't think you're capable of coddling," Thor says, and for some reason, Loki is very much offended. "But I recall your own training as a time of great fun for you. You would delight in every new spell, like it was a game. Do you not think that manner of instruction would be more suitable for the children now?"

Loki stares up at him. "I don't remember it that way," he says slowly. What he remembers was an endless parade of tutors, each more dour than the last, replaced as quickly as Loki could surpass them—which had been very fast indeed. He can recall only being locked away indoors to practice his craft while Thor and the other children of high birth played at being warriors in the sparring fields, and wishing that he could join them. "I was a mischievous child, and perhaps I seemed very happy with the tricks I played to stave off boredom, but I assure you: my training was very rigid and proper." 

Thor sighs, kissing the top of Loki's head. "That does not mean Thorunn and Droplaug must have the same." 

Loki thinks about that for a moment. Thor speaks the truth, though he is loath to admit it. "I suppose I could try to make their lessons a bit less like work and more like play," he says. "It certainly can't be any worse than my current methods."

Thor kisses Loki on the cheek this time. "You are doing your best. We're all learning as we go." 

Loki slips his fingertips over the coarse hairs of Thor's beard. It's still so strange, being able to touch him like this and be touched in return. There are times when Loki wonders if he hasn't really been lost in the bifrost after all, and this has all been nothing more than dream. 

If it's a dream, let me sleep, he thinks, and puts his lips to Thor's. 

Much later, when his body is one satisfied ache from their slow rutting, Loki sits up in bed while Thor snores at his side, and he conjures a few handsome little tunics in soft blues and golds, perfect for their girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha, Thursdays & Sundays I guess??? Maybe it will light a fire under my ass, this pace. 
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments. Please bribe me with more. 
> 
> Next time: a slightly larger argument.


	4. Chapter 4

Loki stands against the cool metal hull of the Great Hall with his arms crossed over his chest, watching his two students—clothed in their new robes—as they conjure gusts of wind into each other's faces. It's amazing what you begin to miss when trapped on a long voyage. Suddenly the sensation of the wind in one's hair can become a special treat. Or a very silly game, as this has now become.

Droplaug squeals as Thorunn sends a particularly strong current of wind right into her ear. In their short time together, Loki has noticed the quieter girl can be just as boisterous as her sister. She only needed time and, perhaps, Loki's silent approval.

"It tickles!" she says, and sends her own gust at Thorunn. But the taller girl is fairly agile and manages to duck out of the way, and the wind instead blows across the room to where the Valkyrie is overseeing her own lessons. Her unbound hair flutters upwards before she spins, looking around wildly for her invisible attacker. The six strapping girls she is training laugh heartily, for they of course had seen the entire thing.

Loki raises a hand in apology. "A harmless spell," he calls to her. "We did not intend to interrupt you."

The Valkyrie gives him a glare—mild, by her standards—and returns to her charges with their wooden practice swords. Loki watches them for a moment before he feels a tug on the hem of his cloak. He looks down to find Droplaug sitting at his feet. "Yes, my Droplet?" he says. 

The girl scrunches her nose at the nickname, which makes Loki want to use it even more. "Sire," she says, "I'd like to be a Valkyrie and protect the throne." 

Thorunn shushes her sister. "Don't be stupid," she says.

"I'm not stupid. I only want to be strong and brave," Droplaug shoots back. Thorunn must not think much of that because she sticks out her tongue.

"Children." Loki lowers to the floor to sit with them as they do, legs knotted. He looks at the two of them, skinny and underfed, likely unable to pick up a broadsword let alone swing it. "Anyone can be strong," he lies. "Any fool can be brave. But not everyone can do what we can." He holds out his palm and calls forth his seidr in a glowing silver ball of light. It dances through the air over the girls' heads as they watch. "Your strength and bravery will not look like a warrior's, but it will be there. Be proud of your gifts, and they will see you through." 

The silvery orb bursts into a shower of sparkling lights that drift over Thorunn's hair and stick to Droplaug's nose. The girls laugh, and Loki feels his heart lighten. He hears a familiar chuckle behind him and twists to see Thor standing there, watching them in much the same pose Loki had occupied against the wall. 

"How goes it?" Thor asks just as the girls pop up to their feet to execute abbreviated curtsies. 

"Well, my King," Thorunn says just as Droplaug says, "Master Loki can make snow out of light!"

"I saw." A wide smile. 

One of the cooks strolls by then, banging their gong to announce the evening meal. The girls look to Loki for permission, and he dismisses them with a wave. "Please practice your glamors tonight and read five pages of that book I've given you," he calls after them as they run to join the other children. He stands and turns to Thor, who looks very tired now that they are alone. "What's the matter, brother?" he asks. 

"I was wondering how old they will be when we finally arrive in Midgard," Thor says quietly. "They might be bent and grey."

"That may be." Perhaps now is the time to broach the subject of their destination. Loki licks his dry lips. "It would be a shame to have the best years of their lives spent in this prison." 

The pain that crosses over Thor's face is indescribably unfair. Loki is very aware of the people making their way to and fro around them, or else he would touch Thor now. Just a hand on a shoulder, or their fingers tangled together. 

"What we need is another anus," Thor says. A peasant passing by overhears, and she stops mid-stride to stare at her King. Thor, noticing, calls after her as she hurries away, "No, not like— It's a shortcut! I was talking about a— Oh, nevermind." 

Loki hides his smirk with some effort and clears his throat. "Perhaps we need not travel so far. Our home can be made anywhere and it would still be home."

Thor scoffs. "You think I have not considered it? Midgard is sure to welcome us, for they owe me a debt. The planets nearby? They have nothing but hatred for Asgard, and rightly so. We were their conquerors."

"Perhaps we can be their conquerors again," Loki says before he can stop himself. 

Thor rears back as if Loki has attempted to pierce his good eye with a dagger. "You wish to repeat Father's mistakes? Have you learned nothing?"

"I—" Loki clutches at words. "I only want what is best for our people. If we can find a suitable place with a pleasant climate, why shouldn't we claim it for ourselves?" 

"Because," Thor hisses at him, "it isn't ours to take."

Loki feels his blood running like ice in his veins. "We are gods," he reminds Thor. "Like it or not, this is our heritage." 

"I am all for preserving our songs, our customs, our stories," Thor rumbles. "But this? Let this piece of our heritage die. I will not be another thief king." And with that, he turns, cape swirling, and leaves Loki there in the emptying Great Hall.

Loki sways on his feet and holds onto the hull to steady himself. That hadn't gone as planned. 

The idea of dining on some of their meager stores does not appeal, so he avoids the mess hall and instead follows a meandering route along the ship's decks. What he needs is time to think so that when he does speak to Thor again, he'll know what to say to fix this mess he's created. It will take a delicate touch.

He's so deep in thought, he nearly collides into the Valkyrie as he turns a corner. 

"There you are," she booms as she realizes who has almost bounced off her armor plate. "I've been looking for you, Trickster."

"That isn't the most friendly way to greet someone," Loki says.

"Fitting." She leans forward, far into his face. "We're not friends."

How does a woman a few inches shorter than him manage to seem so much larger? Loki leans back just a touch. "How might I be of service to our most esteemed warrior?"

"You can start by explaining why your sorceresses-in-training have turned my apprentices' dinner into frogs," she growls.

"Frogs?" Loki frowns. "Are you sure?"

The Valkyrie produces a smooth, green, squirming amphibian from the pouch on her belt and holds it in front of Loki's nose. "Is this the sort of nonsense you're teaching those poor girls?" she asks.

Loki takes the little frog in hand, mustering a slight smile despite his dreary mood. "Transmutation of animate life was supposed to be next week's project. So no, I haven't taught them this particular nonsense yet." He gives the frog back. "They must have read ahead. Such delightful children." 

"Oh, yes, very nice. My apprentices should go hungry tonight, then?" 

Loki thinks of a simple dispel and Valkyrie gasps in disgust, her palm now full of wet stew instead of the frog. "It would have dissipated on its own in a few minutes," Loki says as she shakes the stew from her hand and wipes her fingers clean on her jerkin. "But I wouldn't want the little Valkyries to starve any longer than they already have. Their bowls should be full again, back in the canteen." 

"Wonderful," the Valkyrie says dryly. Loki offers no witty response, already returned to his murky thoughts, so she sees fit to ask, "What's wrong with you? You look like you swallowed a mouthful of those frogs. All green around the gills." 

"It's nothing," Loki says. He moves to brush past her but she blocks the way with her sizable arms crossed over her chest. 

"Is it something to do with His Highness?" She lifts a brow. "He didn't show at dinner either."

Loki fights the urge to chew on the tip of his thumbnail, a bad habit when his mind is running rampant. He's not fool enough to consider the Valkyrie a trustworthy ally; there's no one on this ship to whom he can safely pour out his heart after all. But it is awfully lonely, to be a prisoner to one's own thoughts with no one to speak with. And so Loki feels something in him weaken, then give. 

"I'm afraid I've upset Thor," he says, affecting a lofty sigh. "He can be so sensitive when it comes to his—" A wild gesture of his hand through the air. " —heroic leanings."

"What did you do to upset him?"

"Nothing, really. Nothing important."

The Valkyrie shrugs. "Then apologize." 

"Apolo—?" Loki laughs. "That isn't my way. Besides, I wasn't entirely wrong—" 

"Doesn't matter," the Valkyrie says. "Wouldn't even matter if you were completely right. Trust me on this: apologize and be done with it."

"Even if the apology is a lie?" 

"Even then. Look." She cracks her head to the side like she's trying to rid herself of some old, lingering pain. "Sometimes being right is less important than being...kind. To someone who matters." Her eyes dart away across the floor, but Loki follows her meaning. Some heated argument before that fatal battle, perhaps, or words left unsaid until it was too late. 

"Have you—" Loki starts to say, but the Valkyrie comes to her senses and stands aside in the narrow corridor. 

"Ignore me if you like," she says. "Roam the hallways until we reach Midgard for all I care." 

Loki wishes her a goodnight as they part, she returning to her charges and Loki heading to the first officer's quarters, her words ringing in his head.

Thor is standing at the window when he enters their room. For a moment, Loki watches him watching the stars, and then forces the words from his throat. 

"I am sorry."

From the way Thor's spine straightens, Loki knows he is surprised. "Are you?" he asks the window.

Loki dares approach and places his hand on Thor's shoulder. Dear Norns, his muscles are as knotted as ship's rope. "I let my fears for our future guide my tongue for a moment. You were right. We shouldn't act as Father did, not if we hope to be better."

Thor turns and regards him with his single piercing eye. "I cannot do this by myself, Loki," he says. "The path I've chosen is long and difficult. I need you by my side. I need to know I can rely on you."

Loki knows how little his words are worth, and so he gives Thor a kiss instead of a promise. Thor's arms wrap around him and cradle him close as the kiss deepens. Loki allows himself to be held and ignores the invisible pulse of power from the tesseract, hidden deep in the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thor takes matters into his own hands.


	5. Chapter 5

It's the Valkyrie who proposes it, and when she does, Loki wonders why he hadn't thought of it himself. 

"It makes more sense to train them together, mine and yours." She'd finished her bottle of after-dinner liquor and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "As small as our numbers are, they'll need to learn to work as a unit eventually, don't you think?" 

"Valkyries and magic-wielders, side by side?" In the past, it would have been preposterous. Two separate schools of thought, one of the body and one of the spirit, and never the twain shall meet, etc. Now it seems vital that they be joined. "Might as well give it a try." 

It takes some time to get the children to train together in the spirit of healthy competition. The Valkyrie's apprentices are scolded when they are a bit too rough with the smaller sorceresses, and the sisters are upbraided more than once for using their magic to play tricks as repayment, but soon they fall into a pleasant routine. The warrior children learn a few simple healing poultices from Thorunn and Droplaug, and the girls in turn begin to familiarize themselves with small, light knives, which Loki tells them are imperative to every magic-adept as a last resort. 

One particular afternoon, Loki and the Valkyrie watch as an enchanted practice dummy lurches toward their students, who defend themselves and each other with their skills. 

"Thorunn, mind your construction. Alu must be tripled on there," Loki says as the child draws her runes in the air with her seidr. 

"Yes, sire," she calls back, and corrects her mistake just in time. A shield of pure energy forms above an apprentice's head, blocking a blow from the dummy's sword. The warrior-girl nods her thanks before striking their opponent down with her warhammer. 

"Well done." Loki releases the automaton from his enchantment and lets it crumple to the ground. "Now if you could all—" A loud banging sound interrupts him. The deck seems to shift beneath his feet. All around them in the Great Hall, people stop what they're doing and look about as if for answers. 

"Master Loki?" Droplaug is now very close by his side, her sister's hand held tightly in hers. Smart girl. 

"Hold fast to me," Loki says just as the ship lurches forward. It is like an earthquake but all in one direction. People scream as the floor tilts and things go flying: the boneless practice dummy, the apprentices' weapons, all of it clatters down the hall. Loki has an arm around Droplaug and Thorunn without knowing when he moved, and is protecting them with wards without a thought. They alone stay where they stand as chaos swirls about them. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ends. The ship slows. The deck stabilizes. Folks begin calling out to each other to ask if they are all right, and what happened, and is it safe?

"How are yours?" the Valkyrie calls to him as she helps her students to their feet.

Loki looks his girls in the eye and sees only fear, but no pain. "Unharmed, I think." 

"Was that us?" Droplaug asks breathlessly. "Did we draw the wrong rune?"

The smell of ether hangs thick and crisp in the air. "No, Droplet." Loki looks around but does not see Thor. This bodes ill. "That was not us."

He ushers the girls into the care of one of the child-minders and goes in search of his brother. He finds him in a corridor, unconscious and being carried by the Kronan he'd picked up from Sakaar. Tiny bits of lightning chase across Thor's skin, making patterns of blue and white.

"What's he done?" Loki demands. "Thor! Wake up, you massive oaf." He grabs for Thor's shoulder to shake him, but the lightning shocks him terribly and he pulls his hand back with a gasp. A red burn in the shape of a leaf's veins appears on his palm.

"Hey, hey, hey," Korg says, "Careful, you're not made of stone, are you? I'm non-conductive, so let old Korg do the handling."

"Thor!" Loki calls, cradling his burned hand against his chest. "Can you hear me?"

"Thor here has had a very rough go of it. I'd let him sleep it off, yeah?" 

"Tell me what happened!" He's shouting, why is he shouting? It must be the adrenaline, which makes his heart hammer like icy hail in his chest.

"All right, I can see you're very upset but let me start by saying it went much better than we'd hoped, so that's something. You got to keep an optimistic outlook, especially when dealing with intergalactic space travel." 

"What." Loki grinds his teeth together. "Are you talking about." 

"W-ell," Korg says, "Thor kind of hooked himself up to the ship. Like a battery, yeah? And with his lightning thing, whoosh! We got a good kick out of the engine."

Loki stares at his brother's limp form in the rock monster's arms. "Thor used his lightning...to power the ship?"

Korg shrugs. "He said it's going too slow. Wants to start moving faster, and I said only more power would do that. So then he said—"

"Is he hurt?" Loki asks. His hands itch for Thor, to find wounds or burns and to heal them. "Why isn't he awake?"

"Took a lot out of him. With some rest, he'll be right back to his old self, probably." Korg's face lights up. "Hey, it's a good thing you're here. I don't know which room to put him in. You share, don't you?"

"We do," Loki says with what he knows is unbecoming stiffness. 

"Okay. Good." Korg stands there for several moments before saying. "Can you show me?"

Loki sweeps away down the hall without looking to make sure he's followed. "This way."

It's disconcerting, bringing an outsider into their quarters. This room is theirs, a place where Loki can wear whatever skin is the correct one for the day, where he and Thor can be as they wish with each other. Will it betray them somehow, the sight of their little private room? 

Loki opens the door and ushers Korg inside, hoping it will be quick. 

"Bit messy, eh?" the alien comments as he steps over one of Loki's greaves. "Did you know there's a bunch of little compartments in these walls? I could show you, maybe give you a place to put all this stuff."

"Thank you, but no," Loki says quickly. The last thing he needs is someone poking around and finding the tesseract.

Korg looks around, apparently noting the lone bed. "Right. I'll just toss him here then."

"Careful," Loki says even as Korg lays Thor on top of the unmade sheets with singular gentleness. He watches as the lightning buzzes across Thor's unmoving body. When will the damn stuff dissipate? And more importantly— "Why wasn't I informed of this insane plan?" he asks, whirling on Korg.

The living rock holds up both hands. "Hey, I suggested it. Maybe Loki will want to advise, I said, seeing as he's the advisor. But Thor said nah, you were busy with the kids. Oh hey, congratulations on that by the way. Mentorship is a beautiful, fulfilling thing. Children are the future."

This has become intolerable. "Thank you for bringing the King here," Loki says with forced civility. "You may be on your way."

"Sure, of course." Korg moves back toward the door, taking care to step over the piles of clothes on the floor. "If Thor wants to see the results report when he wakes up, just give me a call."

"Results report?" Loki looks at him sharply. "You can bring that to me."

Korg makes a face. "Ehhhhhh, I'm not sure if I shouldn't wait for Thor—" 

"I am sure enough for the both of us. That report, please."

"Okay, but." Korg looks at their sleeping leader. "If Thor doesn't like it, you'll be the one to tell him you insisted, yeah?"

"Oh, Thor is in no position to not like it," Loki bites out, thinking of heartfelt entreaties made in this very room.

Korg looks confused but nods. "Royalty," he mutters as he leaves. "Less drama than a dictatorship, I suppose, but not by much."

It takes two and a quarter hours for Thor to rouse, and in that time Loki is given and digests every bit of information pertaining to the day's experiment. The builders had apparently contrived a machine in which Thor had been placed, a sort of cage that connected to the ship's doddering engine. Anger rises into rage as Loki reads: they hadn't known what would happen. There had been no way to test the thing. Thor could have been killed, split into tiny particles and burned into nothingness. Loki tears through every page of the damnable report, hating each word. 

"Loki?" Thor groans, shifting on the bed. "Did I— Did it work?" He opens his eye and sees Loki sitting on a footstool beside the bed, wearing her lady's form. "Oh, you look beautiful tonight," Thor says with a stupid grin. 

"You fool," Loki growls. 

Thor holds up a hand and tries to sit up against the pillows, wincing as he goes. "Now just wait—" 

"You complete, utter idiot."

"Loki, I know you must be very annoyed with me—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" She gestures to the tablet in her lap, full of diagrams and poisonous words. "Why keep this a secret?" 

Thor rubs a hand over his shorn hair. "I didn't want to worry you," he says, tired.

"Oh! As if seeing my brother's limp body wreathed in lightning didn't—!" Loki bites her tongue and tosses the report to the bed, standing to pace the length of the small room. It had been just like the arena at Sakaar, when she'd thought Thor might be crushed to death by the Hulk. Disturbing for reasons Loki cannot afford to examine.

"I'm sorry." Thor leans forward, tries to grab Loki's hand as she passes but she does not allow it. "I did not mean to frighten you." 

"I'm not frightened!" Loki says. "I'm livid! How could you do something so stupid? And without consulting me, the one person with whom you're supposed to consult?" 

Thor scratches his eyebrow with the edge of his thumb, face pinched. "The builders kept telling me not to expect much. I didn't want to get your hopes up. Or anyone's for that matter."

"No, actually, you didn't want to hear the one thing you needed to: that this idea was a bad one. That's why you kept it from me," Loki says. She folds her arms over her chest, looking out the window. Snorts. Mimics Thor's deep voice. "'I need you at my side; I can't do this without you'—what horseshit!"

"Loki, my love." Thor stands, wraps her, protesting, in his arms. She's pinned against his chest, fists over his heart. Thor whispers into her hair, "I am sometimes pig-headed, I'll admit, and I stumble forward instead of thinking things through. But please do not doubt that I need you. Very much."

Loki is silent for a moment before she says, "You were dead to the world. And I couldn't touch you." 

A kiss at the crown of her head. "I'm sorry for making you so…livid." 

Her sad laugh covers, she hopes, the tightness of her throat. It is so stuffy in their little room, and it causes tears to prick at her eyes. She steps away from the warmth of Thor and dashes a hand across her face, sweeping her hair behind her ears. Thor's fingers, so careful for all their thickness, brush at her temple. Loki glances up at him and sees a very strange look on his face, fond yet sad.

"I do not like to see you distressed, and I hate even more to be the cause of it," he says, "but to know you care for me, it does me good."

Loki wonders how heartless her lover-brother must think her, to be pleasantly surprised that Loki does not wish him dead at the moment. 

"Don't get used to it," she says, but she cannot inject any acid into the words. She covers Thor's big hand with her own to cup her jaw. The air is too heavy for her tastes. She licks her dry lips. "Perhaps an act of apology from you would help in returning you to my good graces." She casts a long, lingering glance down Thor's body. "That is, if you've recovered enough to be serviceable." It's a very useful trait of Thor's, the ability to put aside difficult conversation to tumble into the sheets.

Thor's look turns into a leer. "For my beloved lady? I could be."

Loki makes quick work of Thor's clothing and her own skirts. Moments later find them in bed, Loki seated on her King's face, his big hands latched onto her hips to pull her impossibly closer onto his mouth. 

She gives a contented shudder. His tongue is fairly talented, and the beard scratches at her inner thighs in a way that is not unpleasant. She rewards a particularly clever lick by reaching down to pluck at Thor's nipples, hard as the rest of him. 

With his strong arms, he lifts her enough to say against her soaked cunt, "No sweet words for me while I work, sister?"

Loki laughs. Grinds down to silence him. "I thought you liked me quiet."

Thor makes a noise of protest, muffled in her slick. And it is so lovely that Loki gives him all the words he could want, a string of bawdy insults and entreaties peppered with the odd bit of praise. She comes with Thor's tongue flexing within her and his hands clamped to her hips. 

Thor is still rock-hard, and though he's too polite to mention it, Loki can see when she dismounts that his face is a mask of hopeful pleading. 

"And what is it you want?" she asks.

"Anything," he says. It's a delightful response, Loki's favorite kind: the giving of free reign. 

"Very well." She finds their half-empty bottle of oil under the bed where it had rolled the other night. "Open your legs for me, my King," she says with a wicked grin, slicking her fingers. 

Thor, for all his bravado, spreads like the most demure of maidens. "Is this your idea of punishment for my misstep?"

"Punishment would be leaving you to your own sad devices." Loki's oiled fingers traipse up one thick thigh and delve into the warm dark space behind Thor's tight balls. "This, you will enjoy." And she presses one finger into him, slow, up to the knuckle, watching Thor's mouth shape soundless words of pleasure as she goes. It is unbelievably tight and fiery, the clutch of Thor's body.

"Is it possible our King has never been taken?" Loki teases. Her finger crooks in and out before being joined by a second. Thor folds his arms behind his head, muscles bunching and straining, and looks down at Loki as she works. "Have you really never been fucked?"

"I confess, it is a first for me," Thor says in a whispery voice. He throws his head back with a groan as Loki finds the spot inside of him that makes his cock pulse. "Skuld alive, you are good." 

Loki hums in agreement and bends her head to Thor's trembling prick, licking at the pearly beads coursing down its length. Thor gives a shout and nearly reaches down, but his massive arms instead clutch behind his head. He must think himself such a gentleman, restraining himself like that, Loki muses. Her mouth leaves Thor's cock, her hair a dark curtain around it. 

She pulls her fingers out and examines her hand. She removes the large ring from her third finger, eyes never leaving Thor's face, and drops the bauble on Thor's clenched stomach, where it rolls to settle in his navel. "Wouldn't want to scratch you with my jewels," she says, and presses three fingers, joined up like a pyramid, into that waiting hole. 

It is gratifying to see Thor so needy: mouth wide, eye fixed on the ceiling, body curved into Loki's touch like an archer's bow. His hands finally find her to pet her hair, to cup her small breasts, to beg for more in his voice's stead, which is lost. 

Finally, when he finds it, Thor says, "Do you plan to shift into your other shape? So that I may have your cock?" 

Loki twists her fingers deep in him, listening to his cries. "I think I can fuck you just as well like this," she says, and proves it. Not a moment later, Thor spends in her waiting mouth, roaring like a lion. 

She nestles against him, sweat dappled and panting. Thor picks up her ring from his stomach and slips it back onto her right hand, a sweet smile crinkling the corner of his eye. For the moment she is happy to lie there, fingertips roaming the solid shape of him, listening to their heavy breathing. Thor's hand plays in her long hair, and while she dozes, he picks up one of the tablets that had been shoved to the ground during their exertions and reads. It's all so wonderfully domestic, Loki could spit. 

"I suppose you're forgiven for today's misadventure," she finally says into the sleepy stillness of the room, "as long as you don't do it again."

Thor goes stiff at her side though his hand continues combing through her tresses. His silence is unnerving. Loki sits up to fix him with a look.

"You're not doing that again, are you?"

"Well," Thor says, "according to these reports, it was very, erm, effective."

"You—!" Loki yanks all of the bedclothes away from Thor, leaving him bare while she wraps herself in a makeshift gown. 

"Hey!" Thor cries.

"Oh, shut up." She has half a mind to turn him into a mouse. "After all of that, you still persist with this madness?"

Thor covers himself with his tablet, which shows a brightly colored chart. "That one charge has saved us twenty years, perhaps as much as twenty-five. That is not insignificant! With a little fine tuning, our journey might be made much shorter."

"But will it be safer? Thor, you didn't see how the people reacted to the jump. They were terrified." Loki wraps her arms around her middle. "The children especially."

Thor looks properly chagrined at that. "I did not intend to upset the little ones. Next time, we can make an announcement so everyone will be prepared."

"Really?" Loki says. "'Attention, attention: your King will be exerting himself to the very limits of his powers and will be incapacitated for hours afterwards. Don't worry, if we're attacked in that time, I'm sure the twelve year old Valkyries will defend us!'"

Thor frowns, his brow knitting together. "I had not considered that," he says softly.

"Well, you should have." Loki rearranges the hem of her sheet gown.

"So we will keep it a secret, the method of these jumps. Only you and Korg and a few others need know about how it's done, and what happens to me after."

"And if we're set upon by space pirates while you're unconscious?" Loki sneers.

Thor regards her with a serious expression. "I would trust you to defend our people in my place." 

Loki blinks, startled by that admission, then looks away. "To trust me is a foolish thing," she says. "You should know that, at least."

Thor actually smiles, though it's pained and worn. "Someday I will learn, but not today." He sighs, rakes a hand through mussed hair. "I know it's not ideal, using my power like this, but if it allows us to reach Midgard even a few centuries earlier, it will be worth it." Loki scoffs and is about to argue that point, but Thor presses a finger to her lips. "I do not wish for the children to spend their entire lives in this place. I want little Thorunn and Droplaug to see trees and feel the real wind before they are too old to appreciate it." His gaze turns tender as his finger strokes Loki's cheek. "I want us to have time to enjoy the fruits of our toils, to see our people settled safely. To be together." 

For a bright, lightning flash of a moment, Loki yearns for that too. 

But no. That is impossible. 

She scrabbles for something, anything to say that will stay Thor's hand in this. "You might get hurt, hooked up to that damned machine," she says, picking at the hem of her bedsheet with a shrug. "I don't care, of course, but one would hope your instinct for self-preservation wasn't that far gone."

Thor gestures to his own body, strong and golden. "I recovered quickly enough. And besides," he sobers with worrying speed, "I am not just a hero any longer. I am a King, and that means something more." He reaches out, then must think better of it and lets his hand drop to the mattress with a sigh. "Loki," he says, looking up at her, "this is something I have to do."

"Stubborn," Loki mutters. She can see there is no talking Thor out of this; his mind, such as it is, has been made up. She clears her throat and ignores the unseen glow of the stolen cube in its hiding place. "All right, if you are determined, we should begin making plans for the next jump. Perhaps we can time it with a stretch of space that is not so dangerous, in case something goes awry. I think there is a spell which can turn one's skin into something like stone, if I can find it. That would be useful for me, to be able to heal you when—" Thor's hand cups her chin, and she stops in mid-sentence. That same sad smile is spread across his face. "What?" she asks.

"I love you. So very much," Thor says. 

Loki sits there for a moment. Then, shaking his hand away, says, "How embarrassing for you. Now where did I leave that scroll?" She stands, wrapped in the bedclothes, and crosses over to a haphazard stack of papers on their little desk.

"Loki, my love?" Thor rubs at his chilled bare arms, nude body curled on the mattress. "Could I have a bit of blanket?" 

She glances at him, appreciating the view on one level and his discomfort on another. "No," she says, and returns to her work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thor keeps getting hurt, the kids are all right. Hulk dispense advice!


	6. Chapter 6

"My dear, sweet Droplet," Loki says with a wince, "please take care in your proportions."

The girl looks up from the glass bottle she's filling with tinctures. It is a day for concentrating on their magical lessons, and so they are just the three of them studying together in the Great Hall. "Is this not how I'm to make my burn salve?" she asks.

"No, dearheart." Loki takes the bottle from her and corks it, checking to make sure none of its bright purple contents have touched his hands or cloak. "I'm afraid you've instead made one of the most powerful poisons in the nine realms. One drop of this could kill a thousand little sorceresses if we're not careful."

Thorunn looks aghast, her own bottles trembling in her hands. "You've given us the ingredients to make poison? That's very dangerous, don't you think, sire?"

A few of the common folk whip their heads around, staring at them. One whispers to the other and Loki can read the words she forms: " _Poison_?" Each glance in his direction is an accusation.

He ignores them, focusing instead on his charges.

"Anything can be poison in the correct doses. Though it really takes some doing to concoct this," Loki says. He shakes his head and swirls the bottle of bright purple liquid in his fingertips. It's very amusing; some of the greatest mages in the universe can't create something this deadly and here a little girl has done it unwittingly. "My word, Droplet, how did you manage to veer so far from my instructions?"

"I don't know, Master Loki," Droplaug says with tears in her eyes. "I thought I was doing it right. I don't like mixing. The numbers get all jumbled in my head and one liquid looks just like every other. I can't—"

"Easy, child." Loki wraps the bottle in a soft kerchief and places it in a pocket of his cloak. He makes a mental note to hide it away alongside the tesseract, where it will be safe. Once that's done he sits with the girls among their scattered vials and scribbled notes. "Tonics may not be your strong suit. They've never been my favorite either. Very dull, this measuring. Shall we work on something else now?"

"Can we practice the ward you used during the first ship's jump?" Thorunn's eyes glitter at the prospect. She's been harping on that spell ever since the jumps became a regular occurance. Everyone on board now has ample time to prepare themselves before the deck bucks beneath their feet, but Thorunn and her sister desire to stand easily during the fearful moments that Thor's lightning—unbeknownst to them—propels them through the stars.

Loki is about to answer her when the ship's whistle sounds in three sharp tweets. Korg's voice, chosen for its friendliness, floats through hidden speakers in every room of the vessel.

"Hey there everyone," he says, "it's almost time for this week's jump, so if you haven't already, batten down your hatches and put away anything that might slide around. We'll be making the jump in about ten minutes. Also, the evening meal will be meatloaf. Okay, that's it. Thanks! Ten minutes!"

The girls chatter gaily while they collect their glassware and place the pieces in a small, heavy chest. Loki watches them, distracted, thinking of Thor. He'll be stepping into the cage about now, lightning swarming over him, a cloudless, thunderless storm inside his body.

"Master Loki? Hello?" Thorunn tugs at his robes in a way that says she's been trying to get his attention for awhile.

Loki blinks down at her. "What is it, my darling?"

"I said, can we try to ward ourselves this time?"

"We'll be fine, really," Droplaug says.

"Um, yes, of course." Loki rubs the bridge of his nose in anticipation of a new headache. "But you must sit like the others do. I don't want you falling over if the wards don't take."

"But how will we know it's working if we're sitting down?" Thorunn asks.

"You'll know." He looks toward the door that will lead him on a twisting path through the corridors to the engine room. After last week's jump, Thor had been out cold for far longer than the first time, nearly five hours. Loki had watched over him for the duration, murmuring as many healing incantations as he could remember, and when he'd exhausted those, making up some of his own. A more foolish person might have called them prayers. "I should really be going," he says.

"But it's almost started! Don't you want to watch us?" Puppies have nothing on Droplaug's big eyes. "Maybe the King would also like to see."

He wishes he could tell them what their King is doing for them, for all of them. It's one secret he would rather not keep, but needs must. He straightens the collar on Droplet's new tunic where it had flapped out of place. "His Highness is needed elsewhere at the moment. I will watch you, but after the jump is over I must go."

"Because nothing on this ship gets done without you," Thorunn says, mimicking his nasal drawl, "the real power behind the throne."

"That's right." He taps her on her nose, making her go cross-eyed. "Now we're nearly out of time. Get ready and show me that you can cast these wards."

They find a safe place along the walls, already lined with Asgardians and aliens alike. Some people hold hands, or keep the smallest children in their laps, but now that the jumps have become routine, the stink of fear has been replaced by a carnival atmosphere, almost. Everyone is given a small break in their monotony, and the people call out to each other, greetings for friends they have not seen in a day or two, commiserations about what meatloaf might be, nothing but easy chatter. Loki places the girls side by side on the deck and stands above them, ready to step in should their spells falter.

Yet when the ship begins its eerie hum that heralds the jump, and the floor shifts beneath them, Loki does not need to worry about his students. They clasp hands, cast their wards, and keep not only themselves but also a dozen or so people on either side of them from moving an inch. A warm yellow and blue glow surrounds them all and Loki, standing still of his own accord, feels something strange blooming in his chest. Has he ever felt pride for another? Perhaps Thor, when they were very young and Loki still felt his brother's accomplishments were shared with him as everything else had been. But now Loki looks at Thorunn and Droplaug, at their elated grins, their hopeful gazes fixed on him, waiting for his pronouncement, and he is so very proud of them. He is grateful that he did not miss this.

"A fair showing," he says around the thing that's caught in his throat. Under his boots, the deck returns to its normal flat pitch, and their seidrs drift out of sight. "Very fair indeed."

Their "thank you, Master Loki" barely reaches his ears before he's moving to the door. "Don't forget to practice your elementals tonight. Water and air only," he says over his shoulder as he leaves.

When he reaches the engine room, Thor is still laying in a heap on the ground, giving off lightning like waterfalls from his arms and legs. "Has no one helped him up?" Loki snaps, and with a thought, turns his skin to glass. It's a strange sensation, being encased in such a vulnerable substance, but Loki finds that Thor's power is well insulated by it. He goes to Thor's side, ducking beneath all sorts of metal rods that make up the cage, and carefully draws his brother into his arms.

Korg lets out a loud groan, and Loki finally sees him slumped in a corner, rubbing at his stony jaw. "I tried to but he decked me. Accident, I think. Like the lightning made him jumpy. Arms went—" Here he flails a bit. "—like a puppet before he passed out."

Loki looks down at Thor's slack face and sees a trickle of blood escaping his mouth. He wipes it away with his glassy hand. "It's getting worse," he says, then realizes the extent of their audience, the handful of builders and star-seers watching him anxiously. He itches to be away from their eyes.

He hefts Thor nearly upright, letting him lean limply on his shoulder. It would be satisfying to see the small crowd's surprise at his hidden strength, but at the moment Loki is too concerned with Thor. He half-drags, half-carries his brother toward their quarters, tossing up a quick invisibility glamor to shield them from anyone else who would see their King so vulnerable.

Their room. Their bed. Thor's head in his lap. The same healing spells as last time, the same helpless feeling clawing at Loki's insides. Thor's breathing is ragged, and Loki does not need magic to see how much injury has been heaped upon him.

If only they could sail forever through the heavens together at their slow, plodding pace, never changing, never wavering, at peace and with the comfort of each other to make the journey bearable. Why can't Thor be content with that future instead of toiling as he has?  "It cannot go on like this," Loki murmurs as he brushes a hand through Thor's hair, tracing the shaven lines. "Can it?" He waits for an answer that does not come, until the lightning slowly burns itself out and his own skin turns from glass to flesh.

He thinks of the tesseract sitting unused in the walls. If he handed it over to Thor now—with some clever excuse for its sudden appearance, of course—this could all come to an end. Thor would have the ship on Midgard in an eyeblink.

And Loki? Loki would need to disappear once more, for he will not allow himself to be thrown in a cell. He chews on his thumbnail, remembering bloody footprints on marble floors. No, not again, not for anything.

He looks down at Thor, his sleeping face pinched in pain. "I'm not quite ready to leave," he says quietly. There's too much to do. Droplet and little Thorunn, what would they think if their teacher left without any explanation? What would become of their studies? Midgardian sorcerers would not be equal to the task….

Surely there is a way, Loki thinks, to stay the course on board the ship but alleviate some of the burden from Thor's battered body. He wishes he knew more of machines and the stars, the calculations of energies and movements of objects. Then perhaps he could puzzle out a way to improve the process. But he is no Lady Jane, unfortunately.

"Well," he says to himself, standing and brushing off his leggings, "it might be beyond me, but it's certainly within someone's reach." And he goes in search of a man who might be able to help.

He makes his way to the best cabin on the ship and, before knocking at the door, shifts into a new shape. The Hulk answers the knock to find the Black Widow standing there, a little smile on her heart-shaped face.

"Hey, big guy. The sun is—"

The Hulk snorts. "LITTLE GOD. KNOW IT'S YOU."

Loki changes back into his usual skin, frowning. "I thought you might smell me underneath the glamor, but it was worth a try." He hesitates. "We may not be on the best of terms, you and I, but could I come in for a moment? There's something I need to ask you."

The green monster seems ready to slam the door in his face, but after a long series of grunts, he swings around and lopes further into the room, leaving Loki to enter with careful steps and shut the door behind himself. The quarters are only a little larger than the ones he shares with Thor, and quite bare, but he supposes the Hulk did not keep many personal effects after leaving Sakaar in such haste. The bed has also been smashed in half, mattress twisted in the rubble of it.

"Cozy," he says for want of anything else.

"ASK," the Hulk growls. Not one for small talk, then.

"I was hoping," Loki says, then starts over. _"Thor_ is hoping that we might be able to speak to your other half. Is that possible?"

The Hulk scoffs, beastly eyes roaming to the other side of the room. "THOR NEVER MAKE UP MIND. WHEN HULK IS HULK, THOR WANT BANNER. WHEN BANNER IS BANNER, THOR WANT HULK."

"Yes, quite maddening, I'm sure." Loki looks around and, not seeing a better alternative, sits delicately on a small round footstool. "May I explain why he needs Banner at the moment? Would it make any difference to you?"

The Hulk shrugs expansively. "HULK CAN GUESS." He waves a hand through the air as if swatting at flies. "SCIENCE. SCIENCE!"

"Very perceptive." Loki swallows down his fear at the sight of those huge palms batting about so freely. "In this case, however, I can tell you that Banner could engineer things for Thor in such a way that—" He stops, thinks of how he might formulate this for his students. Then, more gently, he says, "Thor is being hurt. Badly. If Banner were here, he might be able to figure out a way to stop Thor from hurting."

"THOR HURT?" the Hulk roars, getting to his feet. "WHO HURT? I WILL CRUSH! NO ONE HURTS FRIEND BUT HULK."

"It's not a person hurting Thor," Loki says quickly. His hands go up in a gesture of peace, motioning the Hulk to sit back down, which he does not. "Thor is hurting himself, you see, to help others. And if you turned back into Banner—"

The Hulk grunts and finally sits on the floor. "NOT HOW WORKS. HULK NO SAY 'BANNER COME' AND—" He snaps his gigantic fingers, shakes his head. "BANNER GONE. FOR NOW."

"Oh. I see." Loki feels so tired in that moment. His final desperate bid, yielding nothing. He covers his face with his hands, wishing for some reprieve from what seems to be inevitable.

He's not quite ready to go.

"HEY," the Hulk says, and if Loki did not know better, he would say the creature sounded uncomfortable. "LITTLE GOD OKAY?"

Loki looks up from his hands and manages a tilt of his lips, his best approximation of a smile. "Yes, I'm— I only wish things were different. I suppose I have no one to blame but myself." He considers the Hulk closely. "What do you think would happen if I returned to your world?"

The Hulk squints at the far wall as if thinking very hard. "MAYBE THEY SMEAR YOU TO PULP?" he says. "MAYBE NOT. LOT'S HAPPENED. THINGS CHANGE." He brightens. "NEW YORK ONCE HATE HULK. MADE ME SO ANGRY! BUT THEN," he points at Loki, "THEY HATE YOU MORE." He points at himself. "AND FORGET HATING HULK."

Loki raises his eyebrows and inhales deeply. "You're welcome, I guess," he says.

The Hulk leans forward and bumps the back of his huge knuckles against Loki's knees in what, to Loki's surprise, seems to be a companionable gesture. "HULK SAYING WHEN SOMEONE ELSE COME ALONG TO HATE, MAYBE THEY FORGET LITTLE GOD TOO."

"Yes," Loki murmurs, "maybe." He has his doubts about the Hulk's analysis of the situation, but he doesn't dare voice them to a beast that could snap him in half. Instead, he rises and says, "I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

"HULK NOT DISTURBED," the Hulk laughs in a booming voice. It must be a joke that Loki cannot grasp, but he leaves the creature still slapping his own thigh and chuckling to himself.

Loki steps out into the corridor and nearly slams right into Thor's chest.

"Thor!" He grabs onto his shoulders, bared in his sleeveless armor. "You're awake." Then, seeing the dark circle under that blue eye and the unkempt golden hair flattened on one side of Thor's head, he adds, "You look awful."

"Nice to hear." Thor frowns at the door. "Were you just visiting with the Hulk?"

Loki shakes his head. "It was nothing. But why are you out of bed in this state? You should be resting."

"I came to find you." Thor gives him a tired smile. "I just received word. The jumps are covering greater distances. Fifty years, perhaps even sixty this time. Is that not wonderful news?"

"It would be, if it did not reduce you to this," Loki says, and fights the urge to feel Thor's forehead or some other inane gesture. His brother really does look the worse for wear.

Thor waves his words way. "I'm fine. Although," he says, "on my way here a few folks stopped me and asked if I knew that you and your students have been concocting deadly poisons." Thor quirks an eyebrow. "They seemed quite concerned for my safety."

Loki rolls his eyes. "A slight error was made during a recent lesson. Don't fret, I've stored the thing away. I swear Droplaug is not trying to assassinate you; she worships you rather terribly."

"A sweet child." Thor tilts his head. "The commoners also said they'd overheard you and the girls saying that you are the true ruler of this ship."

"Oh, honestly! It's a harmless jest of Thorunn's. She likes to tease me about all my duties." Loki looks away toward the end of the corridor, hoping no one is eavesdropping. "I don't think they like it when I leave them at the end of our lessons," he says quietly. "Who knows why."

"Is it so hard to imagine that they love you?" Thor asks, his eyes falling to fasten on Loki's mouth. "As many do." He leans forward as if to press a kiss to Loki's lips. Loki steps back swiftly, his hands leaving Thor's shoulders.

"Not here, you dunderhead," Loki hisses. "And anyway, if your little chat with the common people is any indication, more fear me."

Thor seems personally hurt at this assertion. "It was only a couple of overly cautious citizens. They have been through much and are sensitive to anything that could be construed as a danger. It's not you that's made them this way."

"I'm sure you're right, my King," he says, still not looking Thor in the eye. Why must his brother always think the best of everyone even when all evidence contradicts it, Loki wonders. At least one of them is keeping a sensible head.

Thor gives him a friendly whack on his arm. "Come now. Fifty years in one jump! That is something to celebrate." Even as he speaks, though, he is in pain. Loki sees it in the way his hand goes to his tender side, where his newly healed ribs surely bother him, and how he lists to the left to compensate.

Loki's heart sinks. He has no cause for celebration for he knows what he must do. He cannot allow Thor to continue in this folly. The tesseract must be handed over.

He is still not ready to go, but he will have to all the same.

"Thor," he says, and licks his dry lips. Perhaps he can ask for a day's reprieve. To say goodbye to the children, to write out instructions for their education. If he's very lucky, he might sleep beside his brother one final night.

His face must betray something of his inner turmoil, for Thor rests a hand on the back of his neck and brings him closer. "What's wrong?"

"I have to tell you something," Loki bites out. "There is—"

"My King!" Heimdall's booming voice echoes through the narrow corridor and Loki jerks out of Thor's grasp on instinct. His heart gallops in his chest; has Heimdall seen? Does he already know despite all of Loki's spellwork to cloud his view of their little room?

What does it matter now, standing on the brink of farewell?

Thor mouths a silent curse before standing taller. "Yes, Heimdall," he says, turning to greet the old gatekeeper striding toward them. Loki takes a moment to blink away any residual cloudiness in his eyes before taking his place at his King's side.

"I bring news," says Heimdall. "I've been watching for suitable planets as you directed and I believe I've seen one close by." His eerie, all-knowing eyes shift to Loki. Loki stands as still as marble, giving away nothing.

"Suitable how?" Loki asks, all business.

"Suitable for trade, with any luck," Heimdall says. Then, to Thor, "The air is pure enough for us and there is food and drink and fuel to be had. But I do not possess much knowledge of the place or its people besides that. Your orders, Your Majesty?"

Thor's jaw is set in that way that speaks of his barely restrained jubilation. "Prepare to land the ship. How soon before we reach the surface?"

"A few hours."

"Good. That gives me time. Thank you, Heimdall." Thor clasps his hand before the gatekeeper leaves to carry out his duties.

"Sorry, time for what?" Loki asks, bewildered.

Thor is already making his way down the corridor, his hand pressed to his ribs. "To freshen up before I visit with the good folk of this new planet." He tosses a grin over his shoulder at Loki, who hurries to keep pace. "I have to make a good impression, don't you agree?"

"You're—? This may be a very dangerous land we are stumbling into! We don't know anything about it."

"Exactly. Which is why I don't want others risking their safety," Thor says. "Everyone else stays on board."

Loki resists the urge to tear out fistfuls of his own hair. "Thor, you are our King. We cannot afford to lose Asgard's ruler to some alien horde."

"You won't lose me. I'll be well protected."

"By what, exactly?"

Thor stops and spins around to regard him. "By the kingdom's greatest mage and my trusted advisor." He pokes a finger at Loki's leather-covered chest, directly over his heart. "You'll come with me, won't you, brother?"

Loki gives him a withering look. "You should be in bed recovering, not galivating off to some unknown planet without a thought as to the potential consequences."

Thor tips his head to the side as if examining Loki from a new angle. "Shall I go alone then?"

Damn him across a hundred worlds. Loki lets loose a deep sigh. Why is he fighting this? It's the option he'd been looking for, a place where they might find assistance for their journey. The engines might be re-tooled and Thor's burden, lifted. They might even find an opportunity better than Midgard if they play their cards right. The tesseract could remain a secret a little while longer. Loki will not have to go just yet.

If only it didn't require Thor rushing in like a fool.

"I will accompany you," Loki grates out.

"Excellent." Thor smiles at him, a boyish thing that shines like a cloudless day. "Will you come wash up with me as well?"

Loki thinks of the communal misting room which he only uses in the small hours of the morning when it's completely empty. It will be full of people now. "That seems ill-advised."

"Nonsense. I'll have the room cleared for us. Post a sentry at the door. Entirely practical; we need to ready ourselves for this mission, after all." The naughty look in Thor's eye reaches his lips. He leans in closer and whispers in Loki's ear, "I still haven't washed your hair for you."

A flash of inspiration passes through Loki's mind, an image of Thor's damp body crowding him against the cool wall, his legs rising to wrap around Thor's waist, the air warm and wet around them as they move together.

He shakes his head to clear it. With Thor's injuries, they mustn't— That is, they can't rut like livestock with a barely trained guard standing right outside the door, probably listening to every little noise they make.

"Perhaps after this mad enterprise," Loki says. "For now, concentrate on the task at hand."

Thor takes the disappointment in stride, walking backward with a wave. "Meet me at the gangway in two hours' time?"

"I will be there," Loki says.

Thor is about to turn around but pauses for a moment, whipping back too quickly. "What was it you wanted to tell me? Before Heimdall came upon us?"

A lie blooms on his tongue as easy as a breath. "Only that I want you to be more careful in the future. Another piece of advice that will go unheeded, hm?"

Thor gifts him with a sweet smile before he disappears around the corner.

Loki watches him go and prays that this planet will sustain them.


	7. Chapter 7

Loki paces the long length of the empty cargo area by the bay doors. The ship has been on the surface for mere moments but Loki feels each second that he waits for Thor as a lifetime. Everything about this bodes ill, a faint whisper of danger in his ear, but he tells himself that it's only being on land after so many days in space that's making his stomach lurch. Strange how one misses the constant hum and rumble of the engines after it took so long to adjust to their presence.

"His Majesty is on his way," Heimdall intones from his place near the door, standing like a statue with his halberd before him.

Loki stops pacing and chewing at his fingernail, now that he realizes that's what he's been doing. "Tell me honestly, Watcher," he says. "What awaits us here?"

Heimdall blinks his golden eyes once, slowly. "I cannot see what will be, only what is."

"Then what do you see now?" Loki asks.

"Yes, tell us what little you can of this place, Heimdall," Thor calls as he swaggers into the cargo bay. He is freshly washed, his hair dark with damp, his chest plate polished to a high shine. Altogether, he's looking much better than when Loki had seen him last. "I am eager to know it."

Heimdall bows deeply to his King and says, "The planet is called Hassee, home to the Hasseeans. A peaceful place. For generations they've produced grain and other crops for Asgard, though we've had little direct contact for many, many years. I recall the people being very insular, not given to exploration. Quite short as well."

Loki waits, but Heimdall adds nothing further. "That's it? Small and small-minded? Not very much to go on."

"I didn't say small-minded. They only have a certain way of doing things and prefer to keep to their traditions," Heimdall says.

"We will just follow their lead, I suppose, so as not to upset anyone. We're asking for their aid, after all." Thor claps a hand to the gatekeeper's shoulder. "Thank you, Heimdall. Please tell the Valkyrie that she is tasked with the ship's safety in my absence. I trust you will assist her with anything that may arise?"

Heimdall inclines his head. "Anything except her hangover, my King."

"Good man. Now, Loki, shall we?" Thor turns to him with a dazzling smile, one hand perched on his belt. A belt that, to Loki's eyes, is much too bare.

"Are you not bringing a sword?" he asks.

"I am not," Thor says.

"Why?" Loki grinds the word out from between clenched teeth, though he suspects he knows the answer.

"Because the Hasseeans must be shown that we come here as friends." He taps the inside of his own bare wrist. "Your knives, Loki. You must leave them here."

"I will do no such thing! I plan to be prepared for whatever we find on this planet."

"We two can take care of ourselves well enough without blades," Thor says. "Now don't whine. Come." He holds out his hand and flaps it open and closed.

Loki stares at him for a moment, considering if this hill is worth dying upon. "Ridiculous," he finally huffs, and pulls two blue Sakaarian daggers from his sleeves. "An empty gesture if there ever was one. As if I couldn't conjure any weapon I choose out of thin air!"

"The Hasseans do not know that," Thor says mildly, accepting the daggers. He pierces Loki with a look. "All of them, dear brother."

"Oh, for the love of—" Loki yanks one very small knife, barely a toothpick, really, from a hidden pocket at the small of his back and shoves it into Thor's hand. "Satisfied?"

"Entirely." Thor hands the little arsenal over to Heimdall and tells him, "I will send word as soon as I can."

"Let us hope it will be good news," Heimdall says. "I wish you luck, my King." He nods to Loki. "And you, my Prince." He pushes his palm against a panel. The bay doors open, the gangway unfurls, and warm air rushes in, carrying the scent of earth and salt. Thor leaves first, and before Loki can follow, he feels Heimdall's strong hand close over his arm to stop him.

"I also see a great danger, though its shape is hidden from me. I tell you this because I know you will listen when I advise caution. Take care and do not let anything happen to him," the Watcher whispers.

A silent nod, tongue dry in his mouth. Then he rearranges his face into an impassive mask; no point in upsetting Thor until they know what they're up against. Besides, it might be nothing.

Loki descends the gangway and steps onto the soft, fragrant ground. He feels his boots sink an inch or so in the thick black mud before he picks up one foot to examine it.

"Wonderful," he says. "You've brought us to a swamp."

"What did I just say about whining?" Thor turns and gives Heimdall a wave farewell as the gangway slowly clams shut behind them. "Well," he takes a deep breath. "Let's find these Hasseeans."

Loki follows Thor through the muddy terrain and takes comfort in the fact that he still has one dagger tucked safely in his boot.

The ship had landed in what Loki perceives now as a rare clearing, for he and Thor soon find themselves fighting their way through brambles and shaggy brush, spindly plants that seem designed to stick them with spines while providing no sign of nourishing fruit or flower. The air is so heavy, it's a chore to breathe. Loki is reminded slightly of a sharp jelly that the palace's kitchen staff used to mold into wobbling towers for the great feasts of his childhood. He imagines if he'd ever tried walking through that, it would be much the same as this Hassee atmosphere.  

He thinks to share this observation with his brother, but when he comes abreast of Thor and glances over at him, he sees such a look of keen focus on Thor's face that he decides against it. Thor has always been one for action, happiest when tasked with a challenge requiring his strength and will, and Loki does not wish to spoil his good mood with talk of the past.

"So what is your plan?" Loki asks instead.

"We speak to the Hasseean leader, tell them about our great need, and ask them for whatever help they can offer," Thor says, still looking straight ahead as if the goal is somewhere just over the horizon.

"And why would these people help us? We were their subjugators once. They owe us nothing."

"True, but once I appeal to their sense of decency—" Thor begins.

Loki laughs, one loud and hard _ha!_ splitting the air.

Thor turns to glare at him, not very effectively given the eyepatch. "You do not think they will be decent?"

"I don't rightly know, Thor. I don't know anything about them. Let's not gamble on it," Loki says as he steps over a rotting log. "We need to offer the Hasseeans some incentive. Make them think it's in their best interest to help us."

"I will not threaten innocent people," Thor says.

"You don't have to." Loki ducks under a branch that Thor holds up for him. "What I'm proposing will be much more effective. You see, there isn't a creature in the Nine who doesn't dream of being approached by someone out of the blue and told, 'Don't worry about that problem of yours. I'm here to solve it.' That's real diplomacy."

"So we barter with our talents, as you once suggested." Thor nods slowly, his face drawn downwards in thought. "And what talent do the Hasseeans have need of?"

Loki shrugs. "We'll let them tell us, brother. Without making it seem as if we don't already know, of course, since we are such experts in whatever it is. I have faith that we can handle whatever these people call a conundrum."

Thor smiles at that, shouldering past some vines. "Interplanetary relations suit you, Loki. Perhaps I should let you do the talking."

"Well, now that you mention it—" Loki hears something a few yards in front of them, behind some bushes. He stops in the ankle-deep muck and places a hand on Thor's elbow to stay him. "Up ahead. Look."

There is movement beyond the edge of the swampy forest, small shapes trundling back and forth, in and out of shadows, voices rising and falling. Loki is relieved to hear his own language being spoken; their father's thirst for empire has this benefit, at least. He thinks of how best to approach the Hasseeans. The introduction must be careful, well done, planned to the very last—

"Hello!" Thor calls, crashing forward through the brush. "A moment, please!"

Loki looks up at the grey, cloud-strewn sky and counts to ten. His brother has many good qualities, he reminds himself. Subtlety, however, is not one of them.

When he catches up to Thor, he finds his brother speaking to an alien that is staring up at him open-mouthed in disbelief. The Hasseean is short, barely coming up to Thor's knee, and is covered in a fine coat of glossy brown fur. The creature is clothed in a sort of suit of silver material which to Loki's practiced eye looks very finely made.

"—so if you might show us to your King or head of state or, erm, any leader," Thor is saying as the Hasseean quails, "Asgard would be forever in your debt."

"Pardon me," Loki says, and the alien's rust-colored eyes lurch in his direction. "We didn't mean to scare you, kind—" Sir? Lady? "Friend," Loki finishes with what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

The Hasseean clutches the armload of firewood they've been carrying, eyes wide. "Two more of them," the alien says faintly. "Oh no. Oh dear." One furred hand makes a gesture that Loki imagines must be religious in nature.

Thor takes a step closer, beaming like the sun. "There's actually many more of us over that ridge." He points behind them. "We've just arrived in a spaceship. A very long tale, but one I'd be happy to recount if—"

The Hasseean screams in terror, a reaction which Loki really cannot fault. Thor does loom quite a lot when he's not careful. Thor, for his part, is stricken, shushing and cooing at the inconsolable stranger, arms outstretched.

More Hasseeans come running, all dressed in the same suits of silver, and there is a confused tangle of babble as everyone attempts to figure out what is happening. The alien with the firewood is apparently a young child, smaller than the others that come with their different colored furs: sable and walnut and dappled grey. In the whirlwind that follows, Loki finds himself being marched alongside Thor down a soft slope towards a sort of village, its fires giving off a dozen plumes of smoke.

Little buildings dot the landscape, low and fashioned of wood, but they are dwarfed by huge, gleaming structures of industry. Agriculture is not an area of Loki's expertise, but he imagines the shining towers of pipes and tanks have something to do with grain production. It's quite strange but not unpleasing, seeing such bastions of technology sharing land with humble cottages.

Loki takes note of everything he sees and everything that is missing—they are not bound, for example, and their captors carry no weapons. So far, as peaceful as Heimdall said. Thor, for his part, continues to plead his case as they walk.

"Are we being taken to see your King?" he asks the Hasseeans. "There is business we must discuss with your esteemed ruler."

"We do not have a ruler, do we?" one alien replies in a whispery voice, not to Thor it seems, but to the others walking along. "Our governing is done entirely by committee. We all take our turn."

"Ah! An enlightened way of doing things," Thor says. He nods at Loki as if to say _See? I am very good at diplomacy_. "May we speak with your committee?"

"Well, we have a problem here, don't we?" another Hasseean says to the sky, speaking as if to themself. "There is no single ruling committee. There's one that oversees farming, another for water, another for textiles…. About fourteen loops of them altogether."

How much is a loop? Loki has no idea but he suspects it's too many.

"We'll need to form a committee comprised of elder members of all other committees to decide who should be on a committee to deal with the off-worlders," a dark-coated one puts in to their companions.

Thor's face falls. "That sounds complicated. Will it take very long?" He gives Loki a questioning look, one that means _Why don't they speak to us directly?_

"We're efficient at this," the first says with something close to offense in their voice, but it's directed at the ground.

"You'd have to be," Loki mutters.

They are led—very politely, considering—to a sort of raised platform covered with a thatched roof. There are no chairs, but they are given two low, soft pillows on which to sit in the very center of the floor. In this unwalled meeting space, Hasseeans come and go, speaking to each other in low tones and glancing over to Loki and Thor every so often. Thor raises his hand in greeting each time, and each time the onlookers turn away as if embarrassed to have been caught staring.    

"This is not going the way I thought it would," Thor murmurs to him. He wipes away the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Fuck, it's hot."

"Have patience," Loki says, "and be glad they haven't trussed us up at least."

Thor grins in a manner most un-Kingly. "Good point. Must be a welcome change for you. You so often end up in shackles, I almost believe you enjoy them."

Loki glares at him but there's no heat behind it. Actually he feels a sort of relief at the easy jibes. They'd been shut up inside the ship for so long, falling into their routines, surrounded all the time by others with only their little room for privacy, and that precious privacy used almost exclusively for carnal pursuits. Loki had feared that this mission would be strange and stilted with just the two of them working together, but it is like the old days, the very, very old days, when they were young and adventured side by side, as close as brothers could be.

Thor shares a look with him that tells Loki they are both thinking of that time, and Thor bumps his meaty shoulder against Loki's in a silent gesture of companionship.

"All right," says a sable Hasseean, appearing with alien swiftness before them. "We've discussed it at some length and it's been decided that I will be your liaison. My name is Salerno."

"Excellent! Hello!" Thor scrambles to his feet to greet this Salerno properly, but Loki notices the alien's fearful look and the way they step backward. He tugs at Thor's belt from his spot on the ground.

"Perhaps Salerno would appreciate it if we stayed seated," he suggests.

Salerno nods, looking relieved. "I wasn't going to mention it, but the...height of you is a little disconcerting." They wave their furred hands in the general direction of Thor's head, so far above.

Thor blinks. "My apologies. I did not think." He resumes his seat and the alien joins them, kneeling on the floorboards. Loki can see about two dozen other Hasseeans arranged behind Salerno, sitting and standing, watching the proceedings as if ready to jump in at a moment's notice.

"Please, it is an honest mistake. We do not mind mistakes, as long as they are honest." Salerno bares their teeth in what Loki hopes is a smile. "You two are of Asgard, you said? It has been so long since our peoples have had contact. I am bound to misunderstand things of your culture, and you will have to forgive me too, yes?"

"Certainly," Loki says. "We thank you for your courtesy, and will extend our own to you."

An older, white-furred Hasseean clears their throat somewhere behind Salerno, and the poor creature gives them a hurried nod. Loki watches this with interest, but Thor is already barreling ahead, speaking out of turn once more.

"I am Thor, God of Thunder, King of Asgard, protector of the Nine Realms, hero to many, friend to more. Our world was recently destroyed by— Well, it's a funny story, actually. You see—"

Salerno turns back to them. "Are you married?"

Thor's mouth pauses in the shape of a small O. "I'm...sorry?"

"Are you married?" Salerno repeats.

Charm is often one of Thor's favorite fallbacks, and he goes to it now, smiling down at their little liaison with an eyebrow raised. "Why, are you in the market?"

Loki squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on a groan.

Just as he'd suspected, Salerno is aghast, mouth falling open, eyes widening. "Of course not!" they squeak out. "How dare you! I have a spouse!" They turn their head and present their ear, dotted with three tiny jewels that, Loki supposes, must be the Hasseean symbol of marriage. He looks to the others gathered in the open hut and realizes they all have gems in their ears. Every single Hasseean here is married.

Thor begins to apologize profusely for his second misstep in as many minutes, but Loki cuts in with, "May I ask why you must know whether the King is married or not?"

Salerno appears confused by the question, their little brow knotting over reddish-brown eyes. "Because," they say, "we cannot have dealings with an unmarried stranger, king or no. It wouldn't be proper."

"Your custom would not allow it?" Loki presses.

"Our custom, yes, but also our law. To be unmarried is— Well! How do I explain to you?" Salerno looks to their fellow creatures for support and, finding none, turns back with a worried sound. "A Hasseean is not a full-fledged citizen until marriage. Unpaired people cannot be granted the same privileges, and certainly cannot negotiate with the committees. I risk much of my own reputation even speaking to you before we know this. So please tell me: are you married?"

Loki takes a deep breath and prepares to unleash a response so scathing that these little aliens will feel it through their fur and all the way down to their bones. They are royalty; they are gods! If that is not good enough for Hassee—

"Yes, I am," Thor blurts out.

An audible sigh of relief explodes from Salerno and the others behind them. Loki turns his head to stare at his brother in shock.

"I am married," Thor says, more firmly this time, and—to Loki's absolute horror—places his hand on Loki's where it's clenched on his thigh. "And this is my husband, Loki, Prince of Asgard, who is also my advisor."

A ripple of approval seems to move through the hut, Hasseeans nodding to each other as if this all makes perfect sense.

"This is good to hear," Salerno says. "We are pleased to meet you, Thor and Loki of Asgard."

"Excuse me." Loki plasters a thin, strained smile on his face. "May I speak to my King for just a moment?"

"Of course," Salerno says, and Loki thanks them before dragging Thor a discreet distance away to a corner of the large platform. Salerno returns to the crowd of Hasseeans, chatting with enthusiasm and ignoring all else.

"Have you gone mad?" Loki hisses once they are out of earshot. "Why did you say that?"

"I was being diplomatic, as you told me to be." Thor perches his fists on his hips. "You do not approve?"

"No, I do not approve!"

"They wouldn't speak to us otherwise."

"But you could have said you were married to anyone! The Valkyrie is just over the ridge; why not name her?"

Thor frowns. "Because I prefer my head attached to my shoulders."

Loki gives a low growl of frustration. "Thanks to your bungling we're now forced to act out this pathetic farce. We don't have time for this!"

"Look, when you really think about it, it's an ideal solution," Thor says. He looks quite pleased with himself. "A husband should be well-versed in his beloved's habits and tastes and past. And we already know everything there is to know about each other."

"Yes, because we are _brothers_." Loki crosses his arms against his chest. "Or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't. But the Hasseeans need not be told that particular detail." Thor's smug look melts by degrees until he appears almost worried. He takes a step forward and holds Loki's wrist where it rests atop his chest. His thumb rubs at Loki's skin. "Would it be such a terrible burden," he asks, "to pretend to be married to me?"

"That's not—" Loki clamps his mouth shut and tries to regain his composure with a deep, even breath. He will not allow Thor any soothing words, not after his brother's egregious error. "Certain things will be expected of us if we go through with this," Loki says instead, his eyes cutting to their hosts, who are still engrossed in conversation. "I do not know what constitutes proper marital affection on this planet, but surely we would have to make some effort."

"We are lovers already," Thor points out. "I thought you welcomed my affections." He may try to hide the sniffy hurt in his voice, but Loki hears it.

"When we are alone," Loki says. "Not…" He waves a hand in the direction of the Hasseeans, shaking off Thor's light touch. "Not for an audience."

Thor watches his face very closely, his single eye a bright blue bead searching out a truth that Loki desperately hopes stays hidden. "I would think you are ashamed," Thor says in a low voice, "except I know you have no shame at all."

Loki turns his head to stare out over the marshy grasslands that stretch out to the south. How can he tell Thor without sounding like the weakest romantic that he does not want strangers to see their hands clasped, to have witnesses to Thor's lips on his cheek. These things are supposed to be a secret shared only between the two of them. Something sacred that should never see the sunlight.

"Loki." Thor's hand touches his jaw. "We do not have to do this if it pains you so. Say the word and I will recant my lie."

"And then what? How will we negotiate with the Hasseeans after that?" Loki murmurs, still not meeting Thor's eye.

"I don't know. We'll figure out a way, or leave. There will be other planets."

"You forget your duty to our people." Loki's hard gaze sweeps back to him then. "A poor ruler you'd make if you chose my comfort over their well being."

"Poorer still if I ordered you about like a dictator," Thor says. His hand falls away. Loki finds he misses it. "Shall I tell them?"

Loki shuts his eyes, shakes his head. Damn Thor, damn his hot-headed nature, damn his kindness, damn every bit of him. "No," he sighs. "It's— I will do it."

And just like that, Thor's smile returns, slow but spreading like the morning sunshine. "You will?"

"But if we are to pretend to be a royal couple, we must be dignified." Loki sticks a finger in Thor's face. "No unseemly displays. No twee nicknames. And if I hear so much as a shadow of a giggle out of you, I am walking back to the ship."

"Understood," Thor says with a nod that tries to affect seriousness. "I will be dignity personified." He offers his elbow like an old-fashioned lord. "Ready?"

Loki lays his fingertips lightly on his brother's arm and turns with him to face their hosts. His headache is getting worse. "Let's get this over with quickly."


	8. Chapter 8

Thor clears his throat to gain the Hasseeans' attention and, once he has it, says, "Good people, my beloved and I would now like to share our tale with you." He pats Loki's hand where it rests on his arm.

Loki's nails dig into Thor's skin. 'Beloved' is dangerously close to an endearment, and if Thor's wince is any indication, he will be careful not to use it in the future.

Salerno comes forward, bright eyes blinking. "Please tell us all." 

"First, on behalf of Asgard," Thor says to the crowd, "allow me to apologize." 

"For what?" Salerno asks. "We've already agreed that any small faux pas between us should not be held against you." 

"No, not for that." He drops his gaze to focus on only their liaison. "Although I am sorry about the 'in the market' jest. That was very rude of me." Turning back to the crowd, he says, "I apologize for the actions of my father Odin and the way my people have treated yours. We demanded your crops and offered nothing in return. Now that I am King, I wish to make amends with Hassee. Please, tell us what we can do to make up for our past mistakes. We don't have much, for our world has been destroyed, but what we have is yours for the asking."

Loki speaks low for Thor's ears only. "Well put, my King." Couldn't have phrased it better himself, though he'd never tell Thor that. 

The Hasseeans, for their part, seem befuddled by this declaration. They turn to each other with questioning glances, speaking in whispers, shrugging their furred shoulders. Salerno, mercifully, speaks up. 

"We, ah, understood some months ago that something had changed on Asgard; the bifrost did not open as usual for the monthly shipment of grain." He watches them closely. "We did not know so much had changed. Our condolences."

Thor makes a small palm-down gesture as if to say _don't mention it._

"So you are now a, uh, nomadic people? Yes?" Salerno accepts their nods. "And you offer—? Well, this is all very intriguing. There is something that perhaps, as Asgardians, you could…. And if in return you accepted the crops which we planned to send you anyway…." They turn to look at their companions, who seem to be gesturing for Salerno's silence, fingers making invisible stitches over their lips. "The committee is correct," the little liaison says, turning back. "Now is not the time to speak of such things. Let us first rest, as it is nearly night, and continue our discussion at a later time."

Loki looks out over the grasslands and sees that, indeed, the Hasseean sun is dipping low to paint the sky and its clouds with pinks and golds. "A fine idea. Shall we return to our ship, then?"

"Oh, please stay here in the village and enjoy our hospitality. There is a ceremony taking place tomorrow, a second marriage. Every married citizen will be in attendance. You are invited to join us, of course. Then we can speak further, when the festivities are done." 

"My husband and I would be honored," Thor says, but he gives Loki a private look that asks what in the world a second marriage might be. Loki has no answer, but he supposes it must be very important, the way Salerno speaks of it. It's a good sign for their future negotiations, if the Hasseeans wish to host them in this manner. 

The committee breaks up slowly, each member bidding everyone goodnight, and Salerno beckons Thor and Loki to follow them through the falling twilight. They are led along winding paths of stone and felled reeds, over small metal bridges stretched across bubbling streams and quiet wetlands. The machinery of the Hasseeans' agricultural pursuits stands tall in the distance, glinting with the sunset's colors, surrounded by the conical grain silos that dot the landscape.

At one point they come upon a group of silos that appear to have been damaged recently in a fire. Charred bits litter the blackened ground, and long trails of burnt grass show a huge path of destruction. 

"What happened here?" Thor asks.

Salerno shakes their head. "A bad business. We were lucky the fire did not spread to the rest of the village. Two of my cousins perished trying to save the stores." 

"I'm so sorry." Thor dips his head and goes quiet. Loki follows suit.

They walk past a series of low wooden buildings that seem to be family dwellings. Loki notes that these dwellings have no walls much like the structure they've just left behind. Instead, he watches as Hasseeans draw light sheets of gossamer fabric across the outer boundaries of their homes. The sheer curtains must allow for breezes in the hot stickiness of the Hasseean night, but there is certainly no privacy. Loki can see the inhabitants going about their household business as he walks by: parents putting children into log-hewn cradles, couples clearing away dinner dishes, a white-furred elder lighting a candle. A dozen little domestic scenes that make Loki feel like a voyeur. 

"Where do your people go when they need solitude?" Loki asks their guide. "I've noticed these buildings do not offer much. Everyone seems to be looking in on everyone else."

"Oh, yes," Salerno says. "It must be different for your people, but we believe in living openly." 

"But bathing? Sleeping? Other personal things? Surely you can't always be completely in full view."

"But we are. Always." 

Loki stares at him as they walk. The thought occurs to him that he is being led even now to another very open house with no doors to close and lock, no walls to hide behind. "You can't be serious."

Salerno stops walking for a moment, and they all three pause on the narrow path. "Why wouldn't I be serious?" they ask, hands clutched to their chest.

"I just don't believe it." Loki looks around, seeing everywhere the lighted stages of each home and its players moving about, oblivious to his gaze. "It's unimaginable."

Salerno's furred face creases for a moment, then smoothes out into that bared-tooth grin. "I think I understand what you mean, but Prince Loki, let me caution you as a friend who only wishes to see you and your King forge a strong new bond with Hassee: you should never tell a Hasseean that you suspect them of lying. It is the greatest sin of them all. We take it very hard, when someone doesn't believe us." 

Thor speaks up before Loki can protest. "He wasn't calling you a liar, Salerno, only—" 

Salerno waves away the apology. "As we've agreed, forgiveness abounds. I hope you can forgive me for your clearly subpar accommodations." 

The look Thor tosses to Loki clearly means _Look, you've hurt their feelings. Happy?_ But Loki is still stuck on the principle of the thing, less concerned now with politics and more concerned with this seismic shift from what he'd thought was the standard expectation. Even the Sakaarians had walls, for Skuld's sake! 

"But why?" Loki asks. "Why live this way? You know you don't _have_ to."

"Because living out of sight is close enough to lying," Salerno says, a snip in their voice. They clearly consider the matter done with because they resume leading the way down the path to a modest cottage done in the Hasseean style. "I suggest you lower the shades tonight; the insects are vicious out here by the lake." 

Loki looks about and sees the lake, more of a pond really, to one side of the dwelling. Well, at least part of their quarters would be protected from prying eyes. "Thank you," he forces himself to say. "A very charming spot."

Salerno seems quickly mollified by this, preening as he leads them up the short set of steps and into the structure. "It is one of our finest. It used to belong to the pair that are to be married for a second time tomorrow, but of course now they are preparing to move into a more suitable home. Very lucky that it's available just as you arrive."

"Yes, we are so fortunate," Thor says, and Loki believes he even means it. Why that might be is a mystery to him; the little lightbox of a lodge is furnished very simply with rough, hand-carved pieces: one small table, a few chairs. The bed is sized for Hasseeans, and Loki foresees his feet hanging off over the edge of the low mattress tonight. Thor might have to sleep on the floor, poor boy. There seems to be a bathing area—an outdoor shower, really—in a separate portion that can only be accessed by a small raised walkway. How he's supposed to wash himself in the great outdoors when he cannot even bring himself to perform his ablutions in the ship's facilities at any time except the empty dead of night, Loki is not sure. 

Thor asks if there are candles to light as night falls, and Salerno instead shows him how to work the small glass spheres that hang from the rafters. A touch of a finger and each is lit from within by a living light that shimmers like stars.

"Phosphorescent plants?" Thor asks.

Salerno nods, obviously pleased with Thor's keen eye. "We grow them in special darkhouses. They need only a little misting every few months. Saves us a tremendous amount of energy." 

"Very clever," Loki says, touching a fingertip to the globe above his head, bathing himself in a blue, iridescent light. "And very beautiful." 

"Well, I will leave you to it." Salerno pats their own breast in what appears to be a gesture of farewell. "Sleep soundly. If you need anything, you can holler for me." They point to the nearest house, lit from within by a soft blue glow, the shapes of other Hasseeans moving about within. "We live there with our two little ones."

"You have my sincere thanks, Sal." Thor thumps his own fist over his heart in return. "You've been an excellent liaison. I hope we can speak more tomorrow."

"Of course, but after the ceremony. It wouldn't do to let our business overshadow it." Salerno bares their teeth and, with a final nod, leaves them. 

Loki waits until Salerno has put a considerable distance between them before saying, "Thousands of years of civilization, cultivation, and enterprise and still these people cannot put a door on a house?" He sighs and turns to Thor. "It makes one despair for— What are you doing?" 

Thor, it seems, is busy unclasping his half-cape and unbuckling his armor plate from his chest. "Readying myself for bed. What are you doing? Other than complaining, I mean." He stands naked to the waist in the middle of the room, if such a place can be called a room and not a public square. 

Loki hurries about the little cabin, grabbing fistfuls of the translucent curtains and pulling them along the tracks that line the not-walls. They do nothing to hide Thor's half-bare body from all of Hassee but it's better than nothing. "We're not twenty yards from those others houses. Anyone might see you."

"I don't think it would offend," Thor points out. "They seem very comfortable with such things. Personally I find it refreshing."

"You would," Loki snaps. "Any excuse to parade about shirtless, that's you all over." He considers using a simple spell to turn the curtains to thick, opaque velvet. Black. Heavy. It might be hell to sacrifice the light breeze in the warm night air, but it would be worth it. 

His thoughts must be as plain as the nose on his face, for Thor moves to stand behind him and cup his shoulders in his hands. "Loki, please don't insult our hosts. It's only for one night." 

"I hate this. Being on display," he murmurs, letting Thor's questing fingers undo some of the tension in his neck. 

A thoughtful hum from Thor. "You like it well enough when you've engineered it. Can't you just pretend this is another one of your grand entrances before an astonished crowd?"

"That's different. This is—" Loki cannot find the proper word. He thinks of the glass cage that used to hold him not so long ago.

"Vulnerability," Thor says, and kisses his ear. "You've always hated following someone else's rules. That sense of control, it's important to you."

Loki does not like where this is leading. Thor is speaking far too sensibly. He tries to leave the harbor of Thor's arms, but he is held tight. 

"I did not mean that as a criticism," Thor says into his hair. "It's not a failing. It's just who you are." 

"Who I am," Loki says to himself. Strange that Thor should think it's a settled question. Brother, lover, spouse, advisor, healer, betrayer…. "You should know by now that that can change in an instant."

Thor chuckles in his ear. "Someday I will learn, but not today." He releases Loki to settle on one of the little chairs. As he unbuckles his boots, he looks up to say, "I don't suppose I could convince you to do anything but sleep tonight, what with our audience?" His gaze is heavy with longing as it rakes up Loki's body. 

Loki pierces him with a look. "You would suppose correctly."

"Well, if you change your mind…." Thor stands and shucks his leathers down his legs, stepping out of them to stride proud and naked across the room. 

An exasperated scoff escapes from Loki's throat. "Careful, Thor. Your opinion of yourself is getting insufferably high." He looks at the little bed. "I'm not certain we can both fit, anyway."

"So defeatist." Thor climbs onto the tiny mattress and curls onto his side, his huge body compressing into a ridiculous ball. He pats the little bit of leftover room next to him. "There's plenty of space for you."

Loki eyes the floorboards, wondering if he should just stretch out there for the night if Thor refuses to do the gallant thing and let him have the bed to himself, but Thor interrupts his thoughts. 

"I'm sure the Hasseeans expect my husband to sleep beside me," he says with a grin. His hand strokes the bedclothes in what Loki assumes is supposed to be an inviting gesture. "You wouldn't want them peeking in and seeing otherwise."

This little farce of theirs is already giving Thor much too much leverage. Loki wages an internal battle, then sighs. "If you breathe on me in this heat," he says, "I am banishing you to sleep in the grass." With that, he touches the lighted spheres to plunge the house back into shadow, then strips off his gauntlets with crisp, efficient movements, letting them fall to the floor.

"And here I thought you were going to come to bed in your armor." Thor watches him undress, head propped on his hand. "The Norns have smiled upon me. I get a show _and_ a Prince in my bed." 

Loki scowls and, with a single thought, is dressed instead in a long robe of sleeping silks, his leathers neatly piled on the chair. "There's your damned show," he says, climbing into bed. Thor pouts, but cuddles close. The mattress is too small for anything but Thor right up against Loki's side, far too hot in the muggy air, arm thrown over his hip. They fit together like links of chainmail, Thor's face pressed warm to his shoulder. Loki grunts his discomfort and wriggles in an attempt to find a better position, but nothing suits. 

"I don't see why you're so grumpy," Thor says quietly into his skin. "All told, today went very well. The Hasseeans clearly have some task in mind for us, and they even intend to reward us with food. It is good to know they're kind, honest folk."

"So they say," Loki huffs. "I'm not sure I believe it. No lying, not ever? Complete openness in their daily life? Seems unnatural."

"They do things differently here. It's not for us to judge." Thor shifts closer, which should not be possible. "I think Salerno was being truthful, myself. I would trust them to keep their promises."

Loki thinks of Heimdall's warning: some looming, unseen danger that threatens their King. Someone has to be on guard. "We'll see," is all he says. 

Somehow, despite the heat and Thor's sticky skin and the knowledge that someone might see them curled together like pups, Loki finds himself drifting off to sleep, guided by Thor's deep, even breathing and the whir of insects that sounds almost like a ship's engine.

When he jolts awake, it's to the feeling of Thor's hard cock rocking against his backside and the sound of his sleepy sighs in his ear. Loki stays very still for a long moment; it's not unusual, he thinks blearily, for a man to have such a reaction in as tight a space as this. Thor is just caught in the throes of some youthful dream. He will stop soon, Loki is sure of it.

Beyond the gauzy curtains, Loki sees the slivers of Hassee's two moons high in the night sky. It must be the small hours, then. Nothing stirs save for Thor's ardor. It's almost peaceful, the slow rocking motion in the dark. Loki nearly falls back to sleep with it, but Thor's fingers spread across his belly and pull him back into the hard line of his cock with such force that Loki's eyes fly open.

"Thor," he tries to say, to whisper into the shadows, but no sound comes out of his mouth. 

Thor's hand draws downward, past his hip and along his thigh to find the hem of his sleeping robe. In his dreamlike trance, Thor must find the flimsy barrier frustrating; he pulls it up and aside, baring Loki to his touch. His fingers are clumsy with sleep, traveling across Loki's heaving chest, groping at his pointed nipples, before settling with something like ownership on his belly once again. 

Loki would believe the brute is merely faking sleep except his breathing does not change, and the little noises Thor makes are the gibberish of a sleepwalker. 

"Thor," Loki finally says, soft in the silence of the room. "Don't—" But he already is. His hand pets at Loki's stiffening cock, his hips press ever more urgently against him. Thor throws one thick leg over Loki, pinning his lower half in place. The slick of his cockhead paints a wet path down one cheek of Loki's ass.

Anyone might see. Anyone might hear. He should struggle, should beat his fists back against Thor's ribs, should shout at the fool to wake up. But it is like an enchantment, being possessed by Thor so utterly, and without Thor even knowing what he does. 

In his graceless passion, Thor manages to push his cockhead against Loki's hole, catching its rim. Loki does not breathe. The threat of being split apart by that cock, dry and unprepared, makes his heart leap into his mouth. And still he cannot pull away.

A quiet sob breaks free from Loki's chest. What has he become, here in the dark? A toy for his brother-husband to break? Nothing more? 

The sleeves of his robe tangle up his arms, but he shrugs one free and places his hand on Thor's, low on his stomach. Another roll of Thor's hips brings him dangerously close to being breached. Oh, how he wants to be taken even as his body shakes in fear of it. 

He guides Thor's hand lower, back to his own cock, and those thick fingers wrap around him as if they hold the memory of his shape. Thor buries his nose in Loki's loose hair and groans, a low, sleep-drunk noise. They are both sweating, their skin gliding slick where they're pressed together, and Loki shivers even with the heat. 

Thor's cock wedges hard against him once more, pressing forward, seeking entrance, and Loki cannot stifle the little cry that leaves him. He tries to go limp in Thor's hold, but every muscle is singing tight and ready. His eyes squeeze shut. He waits. 

Nothing moves, and he realizes Thor has stilled. His sleepy touches have become less assured, and the flutter of lashes against the back of Loki's sweaty neck means that Thor has opened his eye. 

"What—?" Thor says, his voice rough with his awakening. 

"Don't stop," Loki whispers. 

"Did I…?" He's fighting through the tiredness, the confusion, Loki can hear it in his words and feel it in his hesitant body. "I'm so sorry, love—" Thor moves to pull away.

"Don't. Please." Loki moves back against him, against that thick cock that pulses for him. He wants it so badly. 

Thor catches him about the waist and holds him maddeningly still. "Won't hurt you," he murmurs. 

"But—" Loki blinks into the dark, past the ghostly white curtains. Where are the words that will move Thor as he wants? "Finish on me, then." 

Thor, still half in a dream perhaps, waits a moment before holding Loki close and rutting against him. "Like this?" 

"Yes." He guides Thor's hands where he needs them, one on his trembling cock, one at the base of his throat. Caught, unable to be free, unwilling to fight. "Like that."

Thor must approve if the sound he muffles against Loki's shoulder is anything to go by. He fists Loki's prick and grinds against his backside, animal noises puffing across the nape of Loki's neck. At last Thor spends. Hot gushes of seed trickle down Loki's ass, over his hole. "In me," he gasps. Hands fumble to reach back between them. "Push it in me."

"Loki, take care—" Thor tries to say before biting off a moan. Loki guides Thor's cockhead, slick with creamy fluid, into his hole just the barest inch. It's filthy, the way it flexes and drools inside him with only hot seed to ease the way. 

"Oh," Loki sighs, and feels his body clench around Thor. "Oh, fuck me." Thor is still hard and apparently cannot ignore such an order. He presses in one more inch, and the burn is a delight. Loki's own release flows over Thor's fingers before Loki can stop himself. He goes boneless at last against Thor's chest with the smallest whimper. 

They lay there in a mess of their own making, sweat and seed and searing heat, panting like dogs. Thor is the one who at last moves, peeling off Loki's robes as Loki remains as unresisting as a doll.

"Come, my love, we cannot sleep like this," Thor murmurs, and takes Loki in his arms. He carries him to the outdoor shower, and Loki is so near to dozing off that he doesn't think to protest. He lets Thor prop him up under the clever little device, allows him to rinse him off in a pleasant, lukewarm spray. He even indulges Thor's desire to wash his long black hair. It's still so quiet and dark, they might be the only two people awake in the entire village. On the whole planet, perhaps. Loki leans back against Thor and enjoys the feel of his fingertips rubbing his scalp, working out the soap. 

"What was all that about?" Thor says, finally breaking the silence. "I thought I couldn't have you tonight." 

"You proved very convincing," Loki says, so softly it's nearly lost in the sound of the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention I'm on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/).
> 
> If you're having a fun time, please leave me comments. I need fuel. 
> 
> Next time: a second wedding and some exposition.


	9. Chapter 9

When Loki is led back to bed by Thor that night, hair still wet from their midnight shower and body slack with exhaustion, he imagines he will sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He's right on that count, but he doesn't imagine he will dream, for he rarely does. And yet on this night something comes to him in the dark.

In his dream Loki has the sensation of being in some very deep, very dark hole. Everything is shadow save for a tiny pinprick of light far overhead where the sky beckons. He reaches out to find the walls of his prison, but his fingers grasp nothing but air. The ground is a maze of roots and stones that make him stumble.

He calls out and gets an echo of his own voice in return. He calls for Thor—who knows why? It's only a foolish dream, and he tells himself this even as he remains in the dream itself.

"The lies," a beastly voice growls from somewhere in the darkness, "they never stop, do they? Waking or not, they tumble out of you. You even lie to yourself, Mischief-Maker."

Loki spins around but cannot see anything. It's pitch black. "Show yourself!"

"Not yet. But soon." The voice is right in his ear now, hot breath steaming across the back of his neck. "Oh, I cannot wait to taste you."

Loki wakes with a shout, sitting bolt upright, his chest heaving, cold sweat trickling down his temple. What was that thing? And why did its words fill his guts with ice?

"Loki?"

Loki blinks and turns to see Thor out of bed and already half-dressed, his booted foot propped up on a chair, hands paused in the midst of lacing it.

"What's happened?" Thor is upon the bed in two strides, laces left dragging. He kneels on the mattress and brushes a hank of sweat-soaked hair from Loki's face. "You look as if you nightmared."

"I suppose I did." Loki licks his dry lips, eyes flickering back and forth between invisible points. "It's only sleeping in a strange place that caused it, I'm sure. Nothing more." He even believes it, now that he is sitting with Thor in the bright morning light. It would be silly to think anything else. Thor is the one who has prophetic dreams, a legacy from their mother, not Loki.

"Odd. I too am having difficulties with visions, though in a different fashion," Thor says. "I tried to contact Heimdall this morning, to let him know what has happened and how the Hasseeans have been with us, but he does not appear in my mind's eye as I know he can. It's as if he cannot hear my call."

"The Watcher does not always answer his calls, of course," Loki murmurs, thinking. "I haven't felt any magics here, and certainly none strong enough to cloud Heimdall's sight. Should we go back to the ship to check on them?"

"I don't think there's anything to worry about just yet. If danger threatened, the Valkyrie or someone else would surely have come to find us. And I don't wish to offend the Hasseeans by declining their invitation to today's festivities." Thor brushes a kiss across his brow. "Are you hungry? There's some bread and cheese in the larder. At least, I think it's bread and cheese."

Loki looks out past their thin curtains and sees Hasseean folks bustling about, walking down the paths surrounding the house on three sides, chatting with each other as they all walk in the same direction out of the village. Two turn their heads toward Thor and place their hands on their chests in greeting. Thor, seeing them, grins and waves back.

A glance under the light bedsheet confirms Loki's fear: his sleeping robe has been lost somewhere, perhaps in tatters. "Bring me my clothes first. Unless you'd rather I be nude in front of these strangers."

"You're so prim and priggish lately," Thor comments. "I like it. It's very sweet."

Loki hits him with a pillow and gets a laugh and a fistful of his leathers tossed at his head in return. He's shimmying into the trousers under the protection of the bedsheet when Salerno trots up the steps to the house and pushes aside the gauzy curtains.

"An excellent morning," they say, seemingly unperturbed by Thor's bare chest and Loki, still abed and in a terrible state of undress. "Have you breakfasted?"

"We were just about to. Will you join us?" Thor invites them inside with a sweep of his arm. Loki gives him a wild look meant to intimate _Some of us are not prepared for guests!_ but Thor ignores him.

"Thank you," says Salerno, "but I've already eaten. I was sent to make sure you hurried; the ceremony is about to begin."

"So early?" Loki frowns at the sun, still low in the sky.

"Oh yes! It has to be." Their liaison looks between the two of them, then elaborates. "A second marriage is an all-day affair. I'm sorry, I assumed you knew. Are your Asgardian ceremonies very different?"

Loki slips his embroidered undershirt over his head while he thinks of an appropriate response. "An Asgardian wedding might last several days if the couple is highborn," he says, "but the festivities rarely begin before sunset. I look forward to seeing your customs, though. They sound delightful."

"May I ask why this is a second marriage?" Thor asks. "What happened to the first?"

Salerno laughs but, seeing that Thor does not join in the jest, sobers quickly. "Your people do not marry each other twice? Well, after a married pair have spent many years together and their children are grown, some—not all—but some choose to be married a second time. To come together to be joined even closer before all their fellow citizens." They mime their palms squishing up against each other. "You do not have something similar?"

"Ah! It sounds very like a renewal," Loki puts in. "Elder Asgardians will sometimes repeat their marriage vows in a sort of reenactment of their wedding day." He remembers a few such ceremonies at court, one being Odin and his lady mother's. He'd held the long train of her gown for her as she'd climbed the stone steps to meet her husband.

"Yes," Thor says, "when I am old and my beard is grey, I will stand before our people at my husband's side and remind them of our enduring love." He takes Loki's hand where it rests on the coverlet and lifts it to press a kiss to the backs of his fingers. Loki does not jerk his hand away but it is a near thing.

"I can hardly wait," he deadpans.

Salerno claps their hands twice. "Lovely, lovely." Sarcasm apparently has not yet been discovered on Hassee. "Now we should make haste. The festivities have surely begun already!"

They prepare to leave, finding their clothes and making themselves presentable while Salerno waits just outside on the path. Loki gathers his hair in a messy bun at the nape of his neck in deference to the heat. Thor watches this with amusement.

"Do you envy me now?" he asks, running a hand through his own shorn locks.

"Not hardly," Loki says as he pins his hair in place. "Though a handful of Asgardians on the ship have cut their hair recently; have you noticed? You've started quite the trend." It's true; Loki has seen no less than three men and four women sporting short hair in just the last week.

Thor frowns. "I had not noticed. You really think they've done it because of me?"

"Why else? If it's good enough for a king…."

Loki sees a look of sorrow pass over Thor's face at this. "Another one of our customs in danger of being lost." He stares down at the floor, arms crossed over his chest.

So Thor is in some ways a traditionalist after all. Loki hums, reaches up to stroke a hand over Thor's ragged hair. "Change isn't always so terrible," Loki murmurs, "especially if it suits." The small compliment wins him a smile, and Thor seems to unwind just a bit.

They finish dressing and follow their liaison through the winding village paths up over a small hill coated in orange and red wildflowers. Loki reaches the top of the hill and gazes down at a huge array of white tents spread over the fields. Hundreds of Hasseeans seem to pour from every direction, their silver clothing glinting in the bright morning sun. Already the heat of the day is beginning to build, and Loki finds himself wishing for a lady's shape and the diaphanous gowns that go with it.

Thor must be thinking along the same sartorial lines, for he tugs at the collar of his chestplate and says to Salerno, "I'm afraid we're not dressed for the occasion."

"Not to worry! You look very charming. Very rugged. Very…" Salerno grins and gestures at their armored figures. "Very Asgardian! We wouldn't want you to change a thing."

They are led past the first tents, under which knots of Hasseeans are gathered around countless tables piled with strange foodstuffs and pitchers of rose-colored liquid. Loki can smell savory pies and sweet, fruit-filled cakes, herbed fried things and vinegary salads, a thousand scents that make his mouth water.

"I do hope we are fed at some point," he whispers to Thor as they walk past yet another buffet of delectables. He hasn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast, he realizes, and after their midnight exertions, he is unusually famished.

But as hungry as he is, Thor must be hungrier. "Is there no meat?" Thor whispers back. "I see everything but that. Am I mad? All this and not one simple roast?" His single eye darts from table to table, searching.

"Perhaps they are vegetarian." Loki looks at Thor and explains, "Vegetarians are people who do not eat flesh."

"I know what a vegetarian is," Thor snaps. "They had loads of them on Midgard."

"Did they? And yet you insist on taking our people there?" Loki clicks his tongue. "Some King you're turning out to be."

"I do not mind vegetarians," Thor says, "though I myself would prefer a _little_ meat at least once in awhile." He cranes his neck, still looking in all directions.

Their voices must have risen, for Salerno hears this and turns to say with an abundance of cheer, "Ah, yes, I have heard of meat-eating! Your people are quite famous for it, isn't that so? I hope you enjoy our humble proteins. We grow them locally, and they should be just as filling."

"You do not keep livestock, then?" Loki asks as they pass by yet another display of dazzling puddings. His eyes cling to it even as it disappears in the crowd behind them.

"Not to eat, not anymore. See?" Salerno points to a creature loping on the edge of a tent, a sleek thing that looks like a cross between a panther and a small, whiskered wolf. "Lontras are mostly companions these days. Now our technology can produce better machined milk and foodstuffs in half the time and with fewer resources."

"That is fascinating," Thor says with such honest enthusiasm that Loki must restrain his eye roll. "Can such technology be adapted to tight quarters? Our ship would benefit greatly from such a system."

"Well, I've been instructed by the committee to leave all business dealings for later but," Salerno shares Thor's grin, "I have been wondering about this exact thing. It would be the least we could do in return for your assistance. We have a saying on Hassee: gift the tree rather than the basket of pomelidons." At the twin stares in response to this, Salerno adds. "A pomelidon is a kind of fruit. It grows on trees?"

"Ah," Thor and Loki say in unison.

"So about that assistance," Loki says at the same time Thor remarks, "We are passing an awful lot of these tents."

They share a look that can best be described as _Priorities, please!_ on both sides.

"I've already said too much about our negotiations," Salerno says, waving away Loki's concerns. "Today is for our esteemed couple and their second marriage. And we are passing all these tents so that I might take you directly to the place of honor and introduce you to them." Both Thor and Loki express the appropriate amount of gratitude for this royal treatment, though Loki secretly wonders when they can join the rest of the folk in their feast.

They are taken to the largest and most well-stocked tent in the whole lot. It is less crowded here, and the Hasseeans seated at the long tables or grouped about the delicate arrangements of palm fronds and fruits appear to be older, their fur mostly grey, their movements slower and more deliberate. There are two at the center of all the attention, their little furred heads crowned with wreaths of fern and wildflowers. They greet their line of well-wishers with hands to their chests, teeth bared impossibly white and gleaming.

"Micco! Wabasso!" Salerno calls to them, and their laurel-laden heads turn as one.

"Our Asgardian guests arrive," says the brownish one, bustling forward to look Thor up and down with shining eyes. "My gracious, you're as large as they promised. How wonderful!"

Thor attempts to make himself a little less tall by stooping. "As King of Asgard, allow me to congratulate you on behalf of my people. My husband and I are honored to be here on this auspicious day."

"We are delighted to have you," says the other half of the pair, coming to greet them as well. Then, to Salerno, "Look at their raiment. Battle-ready. It's like a blessing from below, isn't it?"

Thor grins like this is a great compliment, but Loki feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Why would these peaceful folk consider warriors a blessing? He is thinking of this even as introductions are made and names exchanged.

"How long has it been since your first marriage?" Thor asks the couple.

"Oh, a little over an elne of loops." The one called Wabasso turns to look adoringly at Micco. "Can you believe it's been so long?"

Micco brushes a hand over their spouse's elbow in what must be a gesture of affection, for they both smile. "It has gone by in a breath." They turn to Loki. "And how long have you and the King been paired?"

"Well—" Loki says, a story already unfurling in his mind. Not too long, since he doesn't wish to upstage these little aliens, but not so short as to be considered untested newlyweds. Best to name a number of years such as—

"We were promised to each other since we were children," Thor says before Loki can get another word in edgewise. His thick fingers tangle with Loki's. "My whole life has been spent at his side, and if the Norns allow it, I will die there when my time is done." He lifts Loki's hand and kisses his knuckles just above the edge of his bracer.

The Hasseeans let loose a pleased, cooing sound and clutch their hands to their chests.

"Please forgive my King," Loki says, eyes piercing into Thor. "He has a terrible penchant for melodrama."

"Oh, don't apologize!" Salerno says. "Forgive me, but some of us did wonder if Asgardians were capable of tender feelings. It warms us to see how mistaken we were."

Loki feels his spine straighten with resolve. So these little creatures thought them nothing more than heartless brutes? He cuts his eyes to Thor as if to say, _You are not prepared for how much I'm about to out-do you._  Thor's eye sparkles in response, his teeth showing through his smile, as clear an invitation as a banner.

"I am happy to report," Loki says with sugary sweetness as he draws his hand free from Thor's grasp only to rest it upon the back of his neck, "that you were indeed quite mistaken. My husband is my whole heart. Without him, life would be nothing to me." He drapes himself over Thor, cheek pillowed on his muscled shoulder. His fingers, hidden from view in Thor's hair, tug hard enough to make Thor stifle a gasp.

"Truly I do not understand it, how I love my enchanting Prince with a heart filled to bursting, and yet every morning I wake at his side, I find my love has increased tenfold." Thor wraps an arm about Loki's waist and crushes him painfully against his rock-hard flank.

Loki glares up into Thor's amused face. "That is entirely too beautiful a sentiment, my golden swain," he grits out between his teeth.

"Much like you, my most cherished treasure," Thor growls, and closes the scant distance between their lips, kissing him with a feral aggression that catches Loki off guard despite himself. He is motionless with shock for only a moment before his competitive spirit regains control, and he fists his hand in Thor's hair and kisses back with as much fervor as he's given. When they part, they are panting, pink-lipped, mouths wet and swollen. Loki can feel the eyes of the Hasseeans upon him, but he can look only at Thor in this moment.

"Such an interesting culture," Salerno says into the thick silence of their little enclave. "Shall we eat now?"

"Yes, of course," Loki says, disengaging from his pretend-husband and smoothing the wrinkles from his leather jerkin. Thor, for his part, manages to make his guiding hand at the small of Loki's back feel very smug.

"What happened to my proper, blushing husband?" he whispers into Loki's ear as they follow Salerno to a table.

"Your husband is prepared to climb atop you in front of all these little aliens if it means proving them wrong," Loki drawls.

"That's certainly an image. Are we to play this game the entire day? I fear Salerno will spray us down with cold water if we take it any further."

"Oh, make up your mind. I thought you wanted a fawning spouse to hang on your arm during these negotiations."

Thor, upon reaching the table, pulls out a chair for him, a gallant gesture that does not seem calculated or fascious. "Perhaps we should call a truce," Thor whispers as Loki sits. "I, for one, would like to enjoy this feast and get to know our hosts better. Let us be ourselves today instead of putting on a vulgar show."

Loki tips his head back to gaze at the underside of Thor's chin. "Except, of course, for the show of being married to one another?"

"That is not too much a fiction. Not for me, at least." Thor leans down to press a kiss, light and lingering only a moment past friendly, to Loki's lips. Loki, thunderstruck, stares at him as he pulls away. "Shall I make a plate for you?" Thor asks brightly, nodding toward the buffet where the Hasseeans are serving themselves.

"Please," Loki murmurs. He watches Thor's broad back as he moves through the crowd, head and shoulders above everyone else in the tent. How in the Nine can Thor say such things so baldly, as if the idea of marrying his brother-lover was as natural as breath itself? Loki brings his fingertips to his mouth, a featherlight touch that searches out the spark of electricity that Thor left behind. It's lucky that Loki still keeps a cool head and cannot be swayed by foolish, impossible dreams.

As soon as that thought enters his mind, so too does a blinding flash of pain and a vision—or rather, more of a feeling—of being in that deep, dark well with some unseen horror breathing close behind him.

"Prince Loki?" He opens his eyes which had squeezed shut to see Salerno sitting across from him at the table, a cup of that rose-colored liquid held out in their furred paw. "You look like you could use this. You've gone pale. Are you well?"

Loki accepts the drink with a nod. "My apologies. I must still be acclimating myself to Hassee's air. It's a bit thicker than what I'm used to." He takes a sip and sputters. "That is _strong._  And delicious." He takes another, more prepared gulp. The drink is sweet and tangy and powerful enough to clear his head. One wouldn't think such little creatures would ferment anything stronger than dandelion wine, but Loki is very pleased to be wrong about that. This feast is suddenly much more interesting.

Salerno bobs their head, grinning. "I'm so glad you like it! Hasseean feast-wine is always very powerful. We believe in honesty, after all, and you can't be anything but honest after a few of those."

"Well, here's to plain speaking." They clink their metal cups together and drink. "Perhaps in the spirit of honesty, we could share a little more about our respective peoples," Loki suggests when they've swallowed their draughts.

Salerno blinks at him. "Like what?"

"For instance," Loki waggles his fingers in the direction of Micco and Wabasso, still circulating about the tent to receive their guests, "are they husband and wife? Two husbands? Two wives? I don't wish to offend anyone by using the wrong word."

"Husband…. The King uses that word for you, yes?" Salerno claps their hands. "I wondered what it meant, but did not want to offend by asking!"

They share the laughter of two people relieved at not being alone in their ignorance. A few more swallows of wine help.

"So you do not have men and women?" Loki asks.

"As in, sorts of people? I suppose not. We have three main types." Salerno counts off on their furred fingers. "Bips, bip-bips, and fareen. There are more, of course, but those are the most common."

"And you are…? Forgive me, I do not understand the difference."

"A bip-bip. Is that not obvious?" Salerno laughs again. "No, I guess it wouldn't be, not to you. What about your King?" They gesture over to the buffet, where Thor is juggling two plates laden with food as a small knot of Hasseeans urge him to keep piling on more. "Is Thor a men or a women?"

"Thor is a man." Loki snorts into his cup. "Though some days he seems to be more of a whining child. That can stay between just the two of us, if you would."

They laugh, and Salerno sips at their cup and says, "And you? If you do not mind me asking?"

"I'm—" Loki licks his lips and smiles slightly at the mirrored surface of his wine. "I'm a bit of both, you could say." How strange to say it aloud. He does it again just to feel the words in his mouth once more. "Yes. A bit of both."

"Ah, that's nice," Salerno says as if they're speaking of the weather. "It's such a treat to learn about your culture, truly."

"And I am warming to yours, although," Loki drinks deeply, "a door or two wouldn't go amiss. Tell me—" He drops his voice to a low whisper. "And you don't have to answer; I know I'm being very rude but— Do you really fuck in full view of everyone in the village?"

Salerno blinks. "Fuck?" they say in a manner that makes it clear this is another word Hasseeans do not know.

"Copulate? Erm, make love?" The confusion does not leave Salerno's furred face. "Reproduce?"

"Oh! _Oh_." Salerno looks askance. "Asgardians still reproduce via live birth? How old-fashioned!"

"Well, we— It's not just about producing children, of course! There's also affection." His eyes find Thor, slowly wading through the crowd back to him, bearing heaps of food. "Sometimes."

Salerno titters like this is all very amusing to them. "My people have myriad ways to express affection and none of them require secrecy. It's a blessing for the whole community when spouses love each other well; why should we not share those expressions openly?"

"So you have no concept of...salaciousness?"

"Only concerning lies, cheats, and being unpaired for too long."

Loki is still trying to wrap him head around that idea when Thor puts a plate before him, piled high with a dozen different alien delicacies. "I'm told these are the best of the best," he says with pride as he takes a seat beside Loki with his own meal.

"Don't forget the wine." Salerno pours a cup for Thor and refills their own and Loki's.

"Yes, you really must try it," Loki says. He feels his cheeks flushing with high color, a sure sign that he is well on his way to being fairly drunk. "It's excellent."

Thor must notice because he grins knowingly and says, "You're enjoying yourself, then?"

"Thoroughly." Saying it, Loki finds that it's the truth. His headache is even a distant memory now.

"The Prince was just telling me how Asgardians fuck. Fascinating stuff!" Salerno raises their drink.

Thor clinks his cup to their liaison's more out of habit than anything, giving Loki a reproachful look. "Was he, now?"

"Purely academic, my King. A necessary cultural exchange." Loki selects a morsel of food from his plate and pops it into his mouth. Chewing it releases an explosion of flavor so beautiful that Loki is stunned for a moment. Then, swallowing with a groan of pleasure, he picks up another and holds it to Thor's lips. "Taste this. Skuld alive, it's the most delectable thing I've ever put in my mouth."

"High praise, considering." Thor gives a bawdy raise of his brow, but he opens his mouth and allows Loki to place the food on his tongue. Loki watches him closely as he eats, pleased when Thor's eye drifts shut and he lets loose a charged moan.

"See? Wasn't I right?" He smacks his hand to Thor's thigh under the table, and then, because the wine is good and the food is better and everyone around them thinks they are married, he allows his hand to rest there on Thor's leg, face flushed at the sensation.

"Yes, love, you were." Thor's hand covers his own and squeezes. The smile on his face is enough to light a thousand dawns.

Something squirms in the pit of Loki's stomach. It's as much a thrill as it is a discomfort.

"Eat, eat," Salerno urges them. "The dancing is about to begin. We'll all have to get up in a moment." They point to a small band of Hasseeans who are entering the tent with strange stringed instruments propped against their shoulders.

Loki eats another bite and says, "Oh, I don't dance."

"Please, you must!" Salerno cries. "It's so much fun."

Even as Loki demurs, Thor speaks over him. "What do you mean, you don't dance? You used to dance all the time at the feasts of our youth."

"Yes, when we were but children," Loki says. A swallow of wine to wash the taste of those memories from his mouth: maidens swarming Thor as he grew tall and golden, fighting to be on either side of him as they joined hands in the traditional circle; Loki, small and dark, unable to compete, relegated at last to a shadowed wall to watch the laughing dancers move without him. "I grew out of that quite quickly."

"I would be very hurt if you did not at least attempt to dance with us," Salerno says. "Please, Prince Loki? As a favor to your friend?" Those big, liquid eyes remind Loki of his two girls, so far away on the ship.

"I don't know, I—" Loki feels Thor's hand squeeze his again. He glances over at him and finds such an earnest look on that handsome face that his heart clenches in his chest.

"My love, if you wish to sit here instead, I will not hold it against you," he says, "but I would ask you to dance with me, and be gladdened beyond words if you did."

The wine must have gone straight to Loki's head, for he reaches out with his free hand to stroke Thor's bristled beard, a fond feeling of warmth flowing through his belly. "How can I deny my King when he gives me such an invitation?" he says softly.

The musicians strike up the first chords and all the guests surge to their feet with a happy shout. Thor stands, eyes still on Loki, and offers a hand to help him up.

"You do realize I will hurt you rather badly, don't you?" Loki says. "I'll likely step on your toes more than the floor."  

"The pain will be worth it," Thor says, and leads him to the dance floor.

As befits their community-centric mindset, the Hasseeans dance while arranged in sets of ten or more with each dancer taking a turn with every other. Salerno shows Thor and Loki the basic steps, which they pick up rather quickly. "It's very like our folk dances," Thor says. They twirl and weave about the Hasseeans to the jaunty music, and Micco compliments Loki's grace as they take their turn.

"Do you think you might show us an Asgardian dance?" they ask, and Loki doesn't see why not. He and Thor spend the next song teaching everyone a simple dance from their youth, a circle of clasped hands and stomping feet. It is during this dance, head full of wine, that Loki turns to Thor and returns his smile and feels— It can't be happiness but it might be as close to contentment as he's ever felt.

The hours tick by quickly in a whirl of drink, food, and merriment. Jokes are exchanged and new ones invented. Stories are told and exaggerated. The party sparkles onward and every time Loki realizes Thor is not at his side, he looks up to find Thor's eye in the crowd and a golden grin aimed in his direction.

At one point Thor tells a hooting troupe of dancers, "There is another sort of dancing I learned on a world called Midgard where the couples pair off only with each other. Would you like to see it?"

"Oh, please!" Wabasso calls. The others agree in between the gulps of wine they manage to grab between songs.

And that is how Loki finds himself in Thor's arms, cheek resting on his shoulder as they turn about the dance floor amongst the shorter Hasseean couples. The band plays something slow and sweet as a sigh. Dusk falls as the sun sets behind a hill. Night birds begin to sing. Loki nuzzles against Thor's shoulder and wonders if they couldn't perhaps stay on this planet a bit longer.

"Admit it," Thor whispers in his ear as they dance.

"Never. I deny it entirely." Loki picks his head up and peers up at Thor's face. "What am I supposed to be admitting to?"  

Thor holds him closer, his smile widening as they sway in slow circles. "Admit that you could get used to this. Being married to me."

"Oh, Thor," Loki laughs and lays his head back down. "You're really too much."

They dance in silence for a few more moments before Thor says, "So the very idea is a jest to you?" His voice is so strange, so far from his previous jovial ease, that Loki pulls back to look at him again. That handsome face is drawn, that single eye, awash with pain.

"Thor…." Words do not come, and they aren't given the chance. They're interrupted as Micco and Wabasso silence the band and clap for attention. The dancers break up and face the little stage where the celebrated couple stand shoulder to shoulder. Thor releases Loki and turns away to watch the proceedings and doesn't look away no matter how Loki tries to catch his eye.

"We want to thank you all for coming to our second marriage," says Wabasso. "We've had a wonderful day, and now it's time for the ceremony to conclude."

Loki glances around the tent but does not see any sort of authority figure that might join them on the stage. No high priests or anything for Hassee, then. He slips his hand into Thor's slack one and gives it a quick press.

"Are you really going to be angry with me for pointing out the obvious?" he whispers. "When we leave this place, we can't—"

Thor shushes him and pulls his hand free to cross his arms over his chest. "Don't interrupt the ceremony."

Loki resists the urge to roll his eyes. If Thor wishes to turn a very pleasant day sour, that's his own business. He swallows and forces his gaze back to the stage, where Micco and Wabasso are standing very close, face to face.

"Goodbye, my spouse," says Micco.

"Goodbye," says Wabasso.

Loki frowns. What in the world—?

Then the two Hasseeans step _into_ each other, inhabiting each other's bodies, melding together like two jellies. Loki gasps in horror, a hand flying up to cover his mouth, as he witnesses fur and skin and bone molding grotesquely in fits and starts before at last forming one single, small, black-furred Hasseean who stands blinking at the crowd with clear eyes.

"Hello," the creature says. "I am Mibasso."

The audience erupts into cheers. Loki stares wildly at the stage, at the faces in the crowd, at Thor's perplexed expression.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Loki whirls to find Salerno standing at his side, wiping away a tear. "Ah, I always cry at second weddings."

The air is suffocating, a heavy film that coats Loki's panicked lungs. He says nothing as he flees the tent. He pushes his way past Hasseeans and tables and displays of sumptuous food and doesn't stop until he's outside, standing in the soft grass, looking up at the stars. His knees threaten to give out, and so Loki bends over to place his hands on them, breathing as if he'd just run fifty miles. Briefly he wonders if he will vomit but the waves of nausea pass in time.

A thick-fingered hand touches his shoulder. "Loki, what's the matter?" Thor asks.

"What's the matter?" Loki stands up straight and pierces his brother-husband with a bewildered look. "Did you not see?" He gestures at the tent. The noise of the party, its chattering voices and light strains of music, are muffled in the distance. "It was— It was awful!"

Thor's hands are lifted in placation as if Loki can be calmed. "Sal explained it to me just now. Apparently this is just their natural way. All went exactly as it should."

"That was not natural!" Loki fears he might be shouting but what does it matter? No one else is there to hear him. "That was barbaric! Horrific! Those two people—"

Thor gathers his hands in his own. "They joined to become one. It was their own decision. Salerno tells me they felt no pain, just—"

A hysterical laugh leaves Loki's lips. He pulls his shaking hands from Thor's grasp. "And you're fine with all this?"

"Loki, it's not for me to judge. These people have their own traditions." Thor tries to cup Loki's cheek, but Loki turns his face away. "Why has this upset you so?"

"Why—?" Loki's lip trembles. How can he explain? The horror of being subsumed, of losing oneself entirely within another—the ways large and small he's felt himself slipping into Thor lately, allowing that golden sun to eclipse him and perhaps eventually burn him into nothing. What even is he anymore? He isn't moving his pieces across the board like he should. He isn't scheming a path to the throne or orchestrating some delightful disaster.

He thinks of the night before, when Thor moved to take him in the dark, and how he wanted to be taken. There was in that moment no God of Mischief, no immortal Trickster, no Loki of Asgard. He had lost himself entirely, and he knows he will lose himself again and again.

Soon he will be nothing but Thor's.

"I—" He swallows. His face is wet; he realizes he's weeping. "I don't want to disappear," he chokes out.

Thor's lips part. "Oh, my love." He raises a hand, then drops it again. "May I touch you?"

Loki nods, miserable, and allows Thor to pull him into his arms. His hammering heart slows in his chest at just that simple contact. This is how it starts, he thinks to himself. This is how I will cease to be.

"You aren't going anywhere," Thor says to the crown of his head. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Loki shuts his eyes and lets more tears fall down his cheeks. Of course Thor doesn't understand; how could he? The sea does not know that it erodes the cliff. Thor will never realize that his love, so bold and boldly given, is turning Loki into a creature he doesn't recognize: weak, failing, frightened, and timid. A thing that wants only this and will make foolish mistakes in a bid to keep it.

His hands fist in Thor's red half cape. He will have to be stronger. Someone has to be.

He pulls free, wiping a hand across his face. "Forgive me. I think I've had too much to drink. I've become maudlin."

Thor's furrowed brow speaks of grave doubts. "Loki, please don't—" But before he can issue a command which Loki would surely follow (or at least consider following), Salerno comes rushing out of the tent and over the lawn toward them.

"Uh, King Thor? Prince Loki? I'm afraid you're needed right away."

Loki smears away the last of his tears and sniffs deeply before turning to face the Hasseean. "What's wrong, my friend?"

Some distant commotion in the tent reaches their ears, voices raised in argument. Salerno fidgets. "Well, you see, it appears that your daughters, the Princesses, have arrived."

Thor and Loki speak at the same time. "Our what?"  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might not be coming at quite the breakneck pace you've come to expect from this point forward. Please subscribe! Or continue to be generous with your comments and likes and shares. 
> 
> Next time: uninvited guests join the adventure.


	10. Chapter 10

Thor and Loki make haste in returning to their little lightbox of a hut with Salerno bustling ahead of them, very fast for one with such small legs. Their Hasseean liaison keeps up a constant stream of chatter as they walk. "Such forceful children! I tried to tell the them the event is not for young ones or unpaired peoples, but they would not be deterred. I do believe they would have burst into the tent if we hadn't gently guided them to your borrowed house and promised they would see you shortly."

"Yes," Loki says, glancing over at Thor with a measured nod. He brushes his hair out of his eyes; after all that dancing, it's come loose from its pins to settle in a curled tangle about his shoulders. "They can certainly be a handful."

Thor's face creases even further in confusion but he has the sense to stay silent. Small blessings, Loki thinks. They crest a hill and their hut comes into view, lit from within by a bright blue glow. The two familiar small shapes within are thrown into stark relief.

"Father!"

"Pappa!"

The girls fly down the wooden steps of the dwelling in an instant, a blur of blue and yellow, their braids flapping. They throw themselves at Loki and wrap their arms around his legs.

"Hello, Thorunn. Droplaug." Loki touches their heads as he names them. "What are you doing here, my darlings?"

"We missed you, _Pappa_ ," Thorunn says, staring up at Loki with pleading eyes and a series of nods. "We were worried about you and our father, the King."

"Yes, as your _daughters_ ," Dropluag stresses the word very clearly, "we had to make sure you were all right."

Loki stares down at his two charges. They're clenching their teeth at him in a silent plea. "Ah. Of course." He turns to Thor with bulging eyes. "Look, dear, our children have arrived."

Thor, to his credit, stays frozen only a moment before scooping up his namesake and seating her on his strong shoulders. "You scamps! It's much too late for you to be out and about. Salerno, might we discuss our business tomorrow morning? We should get these little ones to bed."

"Oh yes, please," says Salerno. "I was about to suggest, after all the excitement and the wine, perhaps it would be best to speak later." They look uneasy, as if the prospect of the future meeting upsets their stomach.

"Until tomorrow, then." Loki holds Droplaug's hand and squeezes. "Say goodnight to Sal, children."

The girls chorus a farewell and all four of them beam beautifically at the little Hasseean. They could be a portrait, albeit a strange one, of a royal household, right down to the strained smiles.

"Such a lovely family! Sleep well, everyone," Salerno says as they leave.

They hold the tableau until Salerno is gone, and then Thor lowers Thorunn to the ground, plunking her on her tiny feet.

"All right, child," he says. "Start talking."  

The girl does so even as she drops into an abbreviated curtsy. "We spoke the truth, my King. Well, mostly. We were very concerned yesterday when night fell and Heimdall had not received the sign you'd promised to send. We waited until morning and when there was still no word—"

Droplaug breaks in. "We had terrible nightmares, didn't we?" Her sister nods. "And we were sure that you were both in grave danger. So we told Heimdall we had to go and find you, to help you if we could."

Thor crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at the girls. "And Heimdall allowed you to leave the ship? Against my express orders?"

"Well…." Droplaug says in the same instant Thorunn cries, "Yes!" The children glare at each other before Thorunn, sighing, relents. "No, sire. We snuck away using an invisibility spell that we found in one of Master Loki's books."

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose. A new headache is looming. "And you posed as Princesses because…?"

Droplaug wrings her hands as she explains. "We came upon the party tents and one of the little aliens recognized us as Asgardian. They told us the party was only for married people and asked if we were looking for the royal couple—you two, that is."

"So we lied. Just a little!" Thorunn says, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "We didn't even mean to. They said we must be your royal children and we went along with it."

"They might not have let us see you otherwise," Droplaug says. She hangs her head and sniffs. "We were just so worried."

"Let me see if I understand: you disobeyed your King, learned an advanced spell on your own, escaped from the ship, traveled through swampland—alone and unarmed, mind—and then impersonated fictitious royal offspring in an effort to infiltrate an alien feast?" At the girls' jerky nods, Loki shakes his head and looks up at the sky. "I am so ridiculously proud of you," he mutters.

"Loki!" Thor admonishes, and Loki stands a little straighter.

"But the fact remains you should not have done any of those things," he says quickly. "You could have easily gotten lost in that bog, or stuck in the mud, or drowned. Do you think I want to see my best two students drowned? I don't."

"Not to mention, as you can see," Thor intones with a hardness in his voice, "the Hasseeans have treated us with nothing but kindness since we've arrived. There is no danger here," Loki looks at him, then away before Thor can notice, "and even if there was, your tutor and I are more than capable of dealing with it. You are mere children, and badly behaved ones at that." His temper fuels him until he's booming. "Instead of helping, you came very near to insulting our hosts and ruining our plans. You are not to act in such a manner ever again. Do you hear me?"

The girls can barely squeak out "Yes, Your Majesty" as tears form in their huge eyes. Droplaug begins to quietly weep, her sobs shaking her thin shoulders.

Loki gives Thor an unimpressed look. "Making little girls cry. Such a hero."

Thor seems to be beside himself with regret. His whole face is crushed with it, his hands held out in a too-late plea. "Ah! No, don't be sad. I only meant—" He kneels before the children and holds his arms wide. "Come here, come here. I should not have yelled." Droplaug goes to him first, pressing her snotty nose to the fabric of his cape where it's bunched at his shoulder. Thorunn follows after a little more hesitation, ducking her head under Thor's chin. Thor rubs his big hands over their backs and gazes up imploringly at Loki. _Help me!_ he mouths over the tops of the children's heads.

Loki rolls his eyes and claps his hands, beckoning the girls to him. "Dry your tears, darlings. What's done is done. Now we must decide how to proceed. Come help me make up your bed and we'll talk it over."

Thorunn and Droplaug follow him up the steps into their lightbox house, tiny fists scrubbing at their red eyes, while Thor brings up the rear with a terrible frown. Once inside, Loki strips the little bed of its soiled sheets and stuffs them into what is hopefully a hamper but could very well be a decorative vase. The girls locate fresh linens in a wicker chest and set about making the bed while Loki watches them. It seems a simple task but— Ah, he'll never learn, and he's content with that.

"Will you tell the little aliens that we lied? That we're not really Princesses?" Thorunn asks as she smoothes the bedclothes into place.

"I don't think so, dearheart," Loki says, patting her head. "They would not take that very well at all, so we will simply have to continue playacting. Do you think you can do that?"

The children nod with solemn promise. "We'll be very good at it," says Thorunn. "They won't suspect a thing."

"Just to be clear, though, in the future you really should not lie to people," Thor tells them in a careful, gentle tone. "There is little honor in that."

"But I don't understand." Droplaug blinks her large eyes up at him. "Did you not tell the aliens you're married to Master Loki?"

"Well—" Thor purses his lips and shuts his eye, cocking his head to the side. "I mean, that's different."

"Oh, I see," Thorunn says with a cheery grin. "Because it's not a lie!"

Thor's mouth opens and shuts as he flounders for words. Loki decides to save him before he goes under the surface.

"Into bed, girls, and I'll explain. Shoes off, please." He sweeps back the coverlet and ushers them underneath, then sits on the side of the mattress, tucking in the edges of the sheets around them. "As you're very clever little children, I'm sure you've noticed that marriage is extremely important here on Hassee."

"You can't go to parties without being married," Droplaug says. "It's very unfair."

"True, Droplet. On this planet, one cannot do most things without being married, actually. That is why the King and I were forced to bend the truth just a tad: we wanted to be friends with the aliens, but they won't be our friends unless they think we're a matched set."

"So you're not really married?" Thorunn asks.

"No, sweetling. It's just pretend." He catches a glimpse of Thor pacing across the room, his gaze heavy and accusing as it meets Loki's. A frustrated sigh leaves Loki in a rush. What would the oaf have him do? Take this moment to tell these innocent children about the birds and the bees and, sometimes, brothers?

Thorunn scrunches her nose and screws her mouth to one side like she isn't convinced by Loki's explanation. "I thought maybe you were," she says. "Married, that is."

Loki's laugh is only a little forced. "What an imagination you have, my dear. You know that's quite impossible; the King and I are family."

"But not _really_ ," Droplaug says. Across the room, Thor gives a loud snort.

Loki throws him a glare before turning back to the children with a watery smile. "Let's not get into all that tonight. Now listen: while we're here on Hassee we will play pretend. You will have to act very proper and very sweet, just like real Princesses, and His Majesty and I will dote upon you as if you were our own daughters. But when we return to the ship, it's best if we don't tell anyone about our little adventure, all right?"

"Why not?" Thorunn asks. "If it's all just pretend, they'll understand."

Loki grimaces but hides it with another smile. "But it would be very confusing, so we should just agree not to speak of it. Do I have your word?" The girls make their promises, and he pulls the sheets up to their chins. "Good. Now get some sleep. You're going to need lots of energy to be the most charming and adorable Princesses of Asgard this world has ever seen."

"All right, Pappa." Thorunn giggles.

"Goodnight, Father," Droplaug calls a little shyly in Thor's directions.

Thor stops pacing long enough to give them a bittersweet smile. "Sleep well, children. Loki?" He jerks his head toward the steps at the entrance, and Loki follows him as he leads the way.

They sit on the bottom stair, booted feet resting on the gravel path. Night has fallen dark and thick; stars wheel above, insects sing in the grass. The second marriage ceremony is over but the feast must continue, for no Hasseeans stir in their open houses. Soon the light snores of the girls float to Loki's ears, and it's only he and Thor awake in the little lane.

"I suppose we'll sleep on the floor tonight," Loki sighs, resting his elbows on the step behind him and leaning back. "My spine will be delighted, I'm sure."

"You love them," Thor says. His hands are clasped between his knees and his words are so apropos of nothing that at first Loki thinks perhaps he's speaking to his own knuckles. When he realizes the accusation has been leveled at himself, he clears his throat and plucks a sweet-smelling flower from a hedge by the steps.

"Little Thorunn and Droplaug are amusing girls, very smart. They'll go far in their studies with a master like me to guide them." He twirls the bloom between his fingers.

Thor shakes his head. "I did not say you are pleased with them as students. I said you love them." At Loki's scoff, he forges ahead. "It's true. The way you are with them, how much care you take, the little endearments you use—"

"They're children. They require a bit of softness," Loki says. "Not that you would know, the way you bellow at them. Really, Thor, you can be quite the ogre."

"Don't try to steer me off course, brother. Why will you not admit you hold a special fondness for them?" Thor's hand closes around his, gentle so as not to crush the flower in his grasp. His single eye is fixed on Loki's face. "For anyone?"

"Careful, _brother_ ," Loki drawls. "You're beginning to sound needy."

"I will not let you goad me. You may think love is the same as weakness but you are wrong. If anything, you're the one acting like a frightened rabbit, scurrying for cover rather than admitting the obvious." His face softens. His hand withdraws. "Keep your heart hidden from me if you must; I know you well enough to see how hopeless it is to ask for that. But consider allowing our girls the privilege."

He does not wait for Loki's sharp-tongued reply, only stands and climbs the steps into the house. Loki watches him go, fuming, then pitches the bruised flower into a shadow. So he's a rabbit now? He should turn Thor into a galloping hare, see how he likes it. The fool doesn't know what he's saying. If anything, Loki resolves, he must make an effort to be cooler, more reserved, stingier with his affection. After all, it's not as if this farce can continue when they return to their ship. The people would riot. Best for everyone, especially the children, if he doesn't indulge them too much.

Loki picks another bloom from the bush and plucks away all its petals until it's nothing but a stem, which he crushes beneath his heel on the gravel path. Damn it all, but Thor still manages to get under his skin like no other can.

He stays on the stair a little longer, hoping that Thor will just go to sleep so he doesn't have to speak to him any further tonight, for surely speaking would turn into shouting and he is loath to wake the girls. So he waits until he no longer hears Thor's footsteps on the wooden boards or the small noises as he moves about the hut. When at last he deems it safe, he climbs the steps and sees Thor stretched out on his back in the very middle of the floor, his balled-up cape acting as a pillow, one arm flung above his head.

Loki's ire grows as he watches Thor sleeping peacefully like a painting of a romantic warrior. The hut is not very large and with Thor claiming the very center of the open room, there is not much floor space left for Loki. He makes due with a little slice of floorboard next the the bed, as far from his slumbering brother-lover as he can get. His own cape lined in green silk serves as the best bed he can make under the circumstances and, after touching the last of the glowing blue orbs to extinguish their light, Loki curls into a small lump atop it, his back to Thor.

Sleep does not come easily. Every time Loki feels himself drifting off, he jerks awake at some noise—real or imagined—from the direction of the pond or the swamp beyond. Then the Hasseeans, drunk on their strong wine, come stumbling home singing triumphant songs at the stars. Loki listens to the aliens bidding each other goodnight as they peel off one by one to their homes, and then there's the murmurs of the married couples as they prepare for bed, and then, at last, blessed silence.

He's only just fallen into a sort of light doze when he hears a gasp from the bed above him followed by a low, keening wail.

"Darlings?" He sits up with groggy confusion, combing his wild hair from his eyes. His voice is a hoarse whisper. "What's wrong?"

It's Thorunn who is awake and bolt upright in bed, her little face dotted with tears. She bites her lip and shakes her head, seemingly unable to speak.

"Bad dream?" Loki asks. At her nod, he sighs and pats her shaking leg through the bedsheets. "Poor girl. Are you—?" But before he can formulate a question, Thorunn has slipped out of bed and positioned herself, whimpering, at Loki's side, her head pillowed on his ribcage.

"There was something awful," she hiccups, "in the dark."

Despite Loki's newly made decision not to spoil the girls, he finds it impossible to send Thorunn back to bed. He lets her cuddle close while he strokes her braids.

"It wasn't real," he murmurs. "You're safe, you see? Go to sleep and it will all be a memory in the morning."

"But it—" Thorunn goes rigid as if she's been pierced by a knife. At the same moment Droplaug flails upright in bed with an unhappy shout.

"Oh, not you too, darling." Loki barely has time to sit up and turn before little Droplet flings herself over the edge of the mattress at him, sobbing in terror.

"Something chased me," she cries, which sets off Thorunn again: "You saw it too?"

Loki struggles with his two armfuls of frightened, clinging girls. He can only shush and coo so much before he hears a deep grunt that announces Thor has joined them in their exhausted wakefulness.

"Loki? What's happened, love?" he mutters, rolling over toward them.

He's lucky the children are too distracted with their misery to notice the slip of the tongue. Loki glares at him over the top of Droplaug's head and says, "Just nightmares. I swear this place engenders them."

Thor makes a sympathetic noise and reaches for all three of them, pulling the whole lot down and into his arms. An undignified squeak escapes Loki's lips, but the girls seem content to be cocooned between the two adults, warm and safe. Their crying tapers off until they are quiet and still, sleeping like the dead. Loki lays there in the dark, thinking. One of his arms is trapped between Throunn and the floor and the other is pinned by Thor's over Droplaug. If he can extricate himself, perhaps—

"Go," Thor mumbles, already half asleep again. "Take the bed. I will stay with the girls."

Well! Loki swallows a huff. That's quite presumptuous of the oaf. And anyway, there's no fun in being predictable. "Actually, the floor is an improvement over that rickety little thing. I think I'll remain here."

He can't see Thor's smile in the dark, but he can hear it in his voice. "Entirely practical."

Loki would make some cutting remark in return, but he's much too tired. He closes his eyes and knows nothing but darkness until the morning, when he wakes in a tangled pile of limbs. The girls have shifted in their sleep so that now Thorunn is draped across both Thor and Loki with her head pillowed on Thor's stomach, while Droplaug's feet have somehow gotten stuck under Loki's shoulder. It would all be very amusing if Loki's wasn't even more in Thor's embrace with his head tucked against Thor's chest. How he's ended up there, he has no idea.

He is on his feet as gracefully as he can manage, considering all the octopus hybrids he must deal with. "Come, everyone." Clap, clap, clap. "Time to get up. We must prepare for our meeting with the Hasseean committee." He catches sight of his reflection in one of the orb lights; his hair is an absolute disaster. The humidity has brought out a riot of curls. He tries to tame it back with his fingers while the children and Thor rouse, grumbling, and set about finding the food that's been left in the larder.

Once they've breakfasted, Loki tugs the girls' robes into place and straightens their collars. If they're to pull this off, they'll need to look every inch the royal family that they aren't. "Your braids are a mess. Here, let me fix them." He works on Thorunn's tight coils first, wishing he'd brought along a bit of hair oil. "As royal children, you will need to be extremely polite to the Hasseeans. Do not curtsy to them, though; they do not have ranks as we do, so it isn't necessary to defer in that fashion. What else? Ah!" He finishes the neat crown of braids with a bit of silk ribbon. "The aliens are neither man nor woman but other types entirely, so do not call them maids or lords or sirs or ladies. Here you are siblings, not sisters, for they will not understand the word."

Thor frowns from his spot, leaning against a timber and chewing on the last of the bread from the larder. "Really? I did not know that. How did you come to discover this?"

"I asked," Loki says with a waspish sting in his voice. He ushers Thorunn aside and tugs Droplaug into her place to rebraid her brown hair. "Also, darlings, you must walk a fine line. You may act familiarly with myself and the King as we are your parents here, but please maintain your composure as royal children should." He thinks back to when, at the tender age of eight, he was informed that he could no longer hold his mother's hand while at court. The memory must distract him, for he tugs a bit too harshly on a stubborn lock of Droplaug's hair.

"Ouch!"

"Apologies, Droplet. We're nearly done." He wraps a length of velvet cord at the ends and pats her shoulder. "There. Like a true princess."

The girls take turns marveling at themselves in the mirrored surface of the light orbs, moving their heads this way and that to admire their new braids.

"Thank you, Master Loki. It's wonderful," Thorunn says.

Thor chuckles. "Did you know, girls, that your master used to practice on my hair when we were about your age? He yanked out I don't know how many strands trying to get the most complicated braids just right. He knows them all, even the very obscure ones for bygone celebrations."

"Master Loki knows just about everything," Droplaug says with a firm nod.

"Well, most things," Thor concedes. His eye flashes as it catches Loki's. "There are still some gaps in his knowledge."

Loki glowers at him but decides now is not the time for an argument. They have more important tasks at hand: he can see Salerno trundling down the path right now, approaching the hut.

"Good morning!" their liaison calls. If Sal is feeling the effects of a late night of drink and dance, they are not showing it. "Are you ready to meet with the committee?"

"Yes, and we're so looking forward to it," Loki says with practiced smoothness. He gently guides the girls ahead of him, and they greet Salerno with as much aplomb as ten-years-old can muster. As Loki leaves the hut with them, he feels Thor bringing up the rearguard as a silent, heated presence.

They are led to an open wooden structure very like the first one they saw when they arrived. An array of Hasseeans are there milling about or seated on cushions while chatting. The gathering goes silent, however, as Loki and Thor climb the steps with the children. Salerno indicates a mound of cushions that have been set aside for their use, and Loki arranges himself on one with quiet dignity. Thor struggles to fit his larger frame on his own, but at last manages to make himself as small as possible.

"Thank you for allowing us to speak with you today. As my husband and I said when we first came to your beautiful land, we are eager to offer whatever assistance you require so that Hassee and Asgard might be friends at long last." He holds his hand out to Loki, and Loki, after a moment, rests his fingertips lightly on Thor's palm.

"Yes, our entire family hopes to forge a bond with your people that will last many generations," Loki adds. He looks to the girls and is pleased to find they are sitting very straight on their cushions with their hands folded primly in their laps.

"Hassee is pleased to welcome your friendship," Salerno says, somewhat stiff with formality. "There is some work that might be uniquely suited to Asgardians, and if you agree to take on the task, we are prepared to supply your ship."

"We should be glad of it. What is this work?" Thor asks.

"Well." Salerno looks to the committee seated behind them. An older Hasseean gestures to continue. Sal seems to think very hard before saying, "You know already how dearly my people value honesty, yes? So I will be very frank with you." They shift on their cushion, furred fingers fidgeting. "When I was a child...when we all were, actually—" They gesture to the others behind them. "—our parents told us if we lied or stole or allowed falsehoods to flourish, a great beast would come in the night to sniff us out and eat us. That we would die with the taste of our own blood in our mouths."

Thor laughs, hearty and loud. "It is good to hear that our worlds are not so different. I believe my good lady mother used to say the same to me, except it was a witch who would boil me alive. What delightful tall tales, are they not?"

Salerno and indeed every other Hasseean stare at Thor with varying degrees of discomfort and horror. Loki digs his fingernails into Thor's palm. "Dear husband," he hisses, "let our friend speak."    

"It's all right," Sal says. "We, too, thought as we grew older that it was nothing more than a legend, a remnant from the time before pure honesty grew in the Hasseean heart. But recently we have been proven wrong."

Loki feels something on his knee and looks down to find Droplaug's little hand clutching at him. Her eyes are wide and frightened as she looks straight ahead, and her breath comes in small, gasping pants. He releases Thor's hand to clasp the child's. "Droplet?"

"The thing in the dark," she whispers. Beside her, Thorunn is similarly frozen in fear.

"We are not warriors," Salerno is saying. "We cannot fight such a thing when it comes to burn our crops or set fire to our storehouses. But fierce Asgardians might be able to."

"No." Throunn shakes her head, eyes as big as saucers. "We can't."

Thor frowns at the girls in concern and looks at Loki with a question in his eye.

"Please forgive the children," Loki tells Sal. "They've been plagued by nightmares as of late. Girls, it's just an animal that threatens our friends. There's no need to be afraid."

"Yes, we will dispatch this beast with no trouble," Thor says. He directs this to Hasseeans and the girls alike. "We've fought much worse."

"I find that difficult to believe, unfortunately," Salerno says. "The Nidhogg is not like other beasts. It is as old as our world and as vicious as the liars it feasts upon. A dragon that chews on their corpses and sharpens its teeth on their bones. I have seen it. My two cousins both died in its jaws, and for the mere sin of saying all would be well when they knew it wouldn't."

The girls are visibly shaken by this, trembling on their cushions, and Loki is forced to hold them in his arms in an attempt to calm them. How he wishes he could cuff Salerno on the ear for these ridiculous superstitions! "Please, for my sake, compose yourselves," he whispers to the girls.

"I am sure the creature is fearsome," Thor says with a modicum of diplomacy, "but I am equally certain it cannot best me. Your worries are at an end, Salerno. Just tell us where to find this Nidhogg and we will slay it."

Salerno clutches their hands to their chest with a relieved sigh. "That is so good to hear! Oh, it is truly a blessing that you appeared when you did, King of Asgard. You and your excellent spouse and lovely children." They nod to Loki and the girls, who return the Hasseean's smile with a strained trio of their own. "Once the Nidhogg is no more, we will be in your debt. You'll be welcome to as much of our food-producing technology as your ship needs."

"Excellent." Thor slaps his hand on his thigh. "It is agreed. Now what can you tell me about the—?"

A loud voice interrupts, booming from outside the hut, interspersed with many other voices raised in protest. Loki cranes his neck to try to see what the commotion is all about, but all he can spot outside is a crowd of Hasseeans. The committee also turn to frown at the noise.

"First I'm banned from the party and now I can't even come to your little meeting?" says the loudest voice. "No, no! I don't care about your rules. They're bad rules. Wow, you're all so tiny. Just going to step around you, yeah. There, okay, coming through."

"Oh no." Loki feels the blood drain from his face. He knows that voice. Reflexively he clutches the girls closer to him.

"What is it?" Thor asks.

"We can't be that unlucky," Loki groans. "It's simply not possible."

"What is?" But Thor gets his answer soon enough. The crowd of Hasseeans is not enough to deter the interloper. He mounts the steps and enters the meeting place, tugging his strange, golden robes around his tall frame.

The Grandmaster stands blinking at the assembled people before his gaze falls on Thor and Loki. "Oh! It's you. Geez." His mouth contorts into a grimace. "Small universe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. 
> 
> Next time: even MORE unwanted guests pour in, things are revealed, etc.


	11. Chapter 11

For a very brief moment, no one moves. Hasseeans, Thor, Loki, the two little girls, the Grandmaster: everyone stays quite frozen.

Salerno is the first to speak, though they look as if they would rather not. "Do you know this off-worlder?" they ask Thor and Loki.

"Unmarried adults are not permitted in these negotiations!" another Hasseean on the committee shouts at the ceiling. "They are barred! They should be removed immediately!"

"I will gladly do that for you," Loki says as he stands, eyes never leaving the Grandmaster's painted face.

The interloper tugs at the collar of his ridiculous robe. "Oooh. Threats. That's nice. I'd really like to see that. Topaz?" he calls over his shoulder. "Look who's here. Our old friends."

"We don't have any friends. Not anymore," grouses the hardened bodyguard as she wades through the crowd of protesting Hasseeans to mount the platform. Then, seeing Thor and Loki, she snorts. "These assholes? You've got to be kidding me."

"Isn't it something?" The Grandmaster shakes his head, talking through his teeth as he smiles. "Eh, you barely escape a revolt with your life, crash land on a backwater planet where some trumped up teddy bears won't even give you the time of day, and who do you run into?" His face falls into a teeth-baring grimace. "The two idiots who started the whole thing."

"They seem to know the royal couple," a committee member hisses to Salerno. "How can this be?"

"Royal couple? Oh? Who…?" The Grandmaster points a finger at Thor, then moves it to Loki, back and forth, back and forth in rapid succession. A true grin splits the Grand Master's face in half. Loki feels his skin growing hot, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

Don't say it, do not say it, he pleads silently.

"Someone's not playing by the rules here," the Grandmaster says. He turns to the committee. "Uh, hate to break it to you but these two aren't married. They are—" He makes twin circles with his thumbs and forefingers. "Get this. Brothers."

The Hasseeans stare in confusion. Topaz, sighing, whispers something in the Grandmaster's ear.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I meant _siblings_."

Chaos erupts inside the hut. Loki shuts his eyes, feeling his shoulders slump under the weight of yet another obstacle. As his mind races to formulate a counter-strike, the committee holler and titter at each other, calling out disputing orders.

"Remove them all at once!"

"I say it's a vicious lie!"

"Let us remove ourselves!"

"Let the King explain!" Salerno's voice rises above them all.

Loki spins around to find Thor getting to his feet. His face is troubled and drawn. Behind him, the girls huddle together, eyes wide. Loki watches him with a plea written plain on his face, hoping that his brother-lover will read the silent message: _Lie! Lie and save us from this disaster! Denounce our enemy and leave him to twist in the wind!_

Thor clears his throat and speaks. "It is true," he says. The air is filled with Hasseean gasps and Loki's own sharp intake of breath. The fool! And still Thor calls above the rising noise: "But it is not the entire truth! Loki is my brother. However—"

"Ah!" Salerno claps their hands. "Perhaps in your culture it is not so strange for royal blood to wed royal blood in such a way?"

The Hasseeans peer at Thor with great eagerness, their willingness to accept this explanation thick in the air. Even the Grandmaster appears intrigued by the possibility. Loki joins them all in staring at his King. "Please," he mouths at Thor, "say yes."

Thor blinks at him, then looks away. "No," he says. "That is not a practice of my people."

Hasseean moans and boos follow this along with a few shouts to cease negotiations immediately. "Why are you doing this?" Loki hisses to him. Thor holds up a hand until they are all quiet.

"Since coming to Hassee," Thor says, "I have had cause to think upon the nature of lies and truth. It is clearly an important distinction to you, my new friends." He nods at Salerno in particular. "It is also, I believe, necessary to contemplate the thing for Asgard herself. My people have long suffered and caused the suffering of others for want of the truth. It was easier to ignore what we had done than to face it. But that's not what heroes do, and neither should Kings."

He holds his hand out to Loki, and Loki, lacking any other lifeline, grasps it. Thor smiles at him, then returns his attention to their audience. "Prince Loki and I were raised together as siblings, yes, though more recently we discovered he had been taken from a rival kingdom by my Father as a babe. That secret has caused so much damage; I refuse to keep another like it."

"Thor," Loki says, a warning in his voice. He cannot believe the things pouring from this idiot's mouth and dreads whatever may come next.

"It's all right, love." Thor holds his hand tighter. "Good people of Hassee, I tell you now the whole truth concerning Loki and myself. We are brothers but for blood, and husbands but for ceremony. Though I did not lie to you in my heart, I regret my dissembling and I hope that you will forgive me."

There is a moment of silence before hushed murmurs pass through the assembled committee. Loki stands as still as a statue at a gate, his hand cold and clammy where it lies in Thor's. What has his terrible brute done?

"Okay," the Grandmaster says slowly. "Doubling down. Wow." He is ignored by everyone.

"What of the children?" Salerno asks. "Are the Princesses, too, part of your ruse or do you claim them as your own?"

The girls! Loki whirls to see his two students standing in stunned silence, their round eyes pinned to where Thor's hand holds his. Oh, Norns take him, what he wouldn't give to spare them this humiliation. He is supposed to be their teacher, their protector, their champion, and he cannot even—

"They are mine," he says before a thought can form in his head. He turns back to the committee and realizes his hand is trembling in Thor's palm. "They're mine," he repeats. "They may not be of my body or my blood, but I love them as my own." His voice is rising like a sharpened blade, prepared to strike. "And if anyone treats them as anything less, I'll—"

All at once Loki feels two little bodies colliding with his legs.

"Do you really mean it, Master Loki?" Thorunn pleads. Droplaug, for her part, only holds his leg tightly, her face pressed to his knee.

"Oh, my sweet girls." Loki feels himself spiraling away as he touches the tops of their heads. He must shield them from whatever may come as best he can. "Of course, of course." He looks to Thor, pleading with his eyes for assistance in their protection.

Thor swallows. "Salerno?" He turns to the liaison. "Perhaps the children could be taken somewhere safe while we discuss a way forward. They are very young and tire easily, and all this excitement—"

"My spouse can watch them alongside my own children for the day," Salerno immediately offers. "I give you my word they will be shown nothing but kindness. Mims?" A gold-coated Hasseean steps forward from the crowd and, with an affectionate brush of Salerno's arm, beckons the girls to them.

Loki murmurs a few senseless words of comfort to Thorunn and Droplaug as they're led away by Mims. When they pass by the Grandmaster and his bodyguard, Thorunn tips her head back and sticks her tongue out at him. The Grandmaster returns the gesture before sliding his attention back to Loki's ruin.

"All right, so what's the penalty here? Hanging? Firing squad? Fifty lashes? What?" He rubs his palms together with anticipation.

Salerno seems torn between the protocol to ignore the unmarried off-worlder and defending their Hasseean honor.

"As you surely understand by now," Salerno says, addressing only Thor and Loki, "Hassee is a peaceful land where violence is forbidden. Even when laws are broken, we strive to find solutions that benefit all parties."

"Aw, come on!" the Grandmaster says.

Salerno coughs into their little furred fist. "It is clear that the Asgardians were not completely truthful with us at the outset. However, the King says it is only for want of a ceremony that keeps the Prince from being a true spouse. And so I propose the following: let us solve the problem by providing them with a wedding. Once the royal marriage is official, any remaining vestiges of the lie will be moot and we can continue with our arrangement as planned."

Loki has not seen Thor's face light up like this since being gifted his first hunting bow as a child. "You'll marry us? Sal, this is wonderful. Of course we accept. That is, if Loki agrees?" He looks to Loki quickly and full of hope.

Loki shrugs. "All right." He's a little bewildered at being let off the hook so easily, but he's also not about to argue.

Thor wraps Loki in his arms and kisses him squarely on the mouth. "I cannot begin to say how happy I am." A little over the top, Loki thinks, but the Hasseeans seem to buy it.

Salerno looks to the rest of the committee and nods. "We will need to discuss the details of the matter amongst ourselves. I imagine my counterparts will require a traditional Hassee ceremony to ensure the validity of the marriage."

"We will do whatever it takes," Thor promises.

"Good. Then leave us for the moment, if you would," Sal says, and gestures to the steps. As Thor and Loki walk towards them hand in hand, their liaison leans close and whispers, "This is my reputation at stake as well.You've put me in an awkward position; I hope you understand how serious this is."

"We do," Loki says, since Thor can't seem to stop smiling long enough to answer. "We never meant for this to affect your standing, my friend."

Salerno bobs their head and lets them pass. As they leave, the Grandmaster continues ranting to his inattentive audience. "Hello? Anyone want to explain what's going on? Because I'm lost, honestly."

Loki leads Thor to a copse of trees a short distance from the pavilion. He can't quite hear what's being discussed by the committee but at least they won't be heard in return.

"I can't believe how simple this has turned out to be," Loki murmurs to the still-grinning Thor. "One small ceremony, a single dragon killed, and we'll be back on the ship with all the food we could want. I thought for certain the Grandmaster would ruin everything. Could you please wipe that silly look off your face? What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing is the matter." Thor lifts Loki's hand to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. "We're getting married. Why shouldn't my face look like this?"

Loki rolls his eyes. His King is absolutely hopeless. "The ceremony is for the Hasseeans' benefit. We need only satisfy their laws. It's not as if we'll actually be married."

"Well." Thor's smile dims somewhat but does not disappear as he clutches Loki's hands. "Couldn't we be, though?"

A sinking feeling enters Loki's stomach. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about being married, you and I," Thor says. "No more games, no more lies. The two of us, actually married for all to see." He tugs Loki's hands closer until they rest on his chest, above his thundering heart. "Would you?"

Loki gives one sharp laugh, then quiets as Thor does not join in. "You're not joking."

Thor wears an expression of absolute seriousness now. "Would you like me to kneel as I ask? It is traditional." He moves as if to go down on one knee, but Loki pulls him back to his feet.

"Stop! I— Thor, this is nonsense!" Loki fights to keep his wits about him. "How would a marriage to me even work?"

Thor inclines his head to the side. "I imagine it would involve you in my quarters and in my bed and at my side, all things which we already enjoy. And this way, I could name the girls my heirs, if they would have me as a Father. Unless—" He squints at Loki. "Do you think you can carry a child? I would not insist on a natural-born heir but if you would prefer it…."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Loki cries. The onslaught is too much. A father to his girls? Heirs? Children? "Where is this madness coming from? Have you lost your mind?"

Thor shakes his head. "Why does this surprise you? After all, I always did desire to make you my Queen. Why not make it official?"

"Because!" Loki explodes, yanking his hands free of Thor's grip. "First of all, I am your brother—"

"Adopted."

"I am held in suspicion by your subjects—"

"Only some."

"I was publicly unmasked as an impostor on the throne! I have been an enemy to you and your kingdom! My veins don't even carry Asgardian blood! Do you really think our people would stand for it?"

"I believe they would," Thor says. "In my heart of hearts, I think the majority see you as the hero who rescued them at the end of the world. That is what you are, Loki. Can you not see that?"

Loki's mouth opens, then closes. How can he counter such blind naivety? "What I see," he finally says, "is a selfish fool."

"Selfish?" Thor crosses his arms over his chest.

"Yes, selfish. You are not thinking of your kingdom, only yourself. You have been King for less than an eyeblink in the grand scheme of things and now you want to name me your consort? The people are looking to you for stability, for common sense. If you tell them you have decided to marry me, half the ship will rise up, saying I have bewitched you. And to be honest? I would not blame them for it. You would cause a mutiny."

Thor's single eye holds Loki in its gaze for a long, silent moment. "You give everyone too little credit," he finally says in a quiet voice. "Yourself most of all."

"And you give everyone too much," Loki says with acid in his voice.

"Trouble in paradise?" a voice lilts through the trees. Loki suppresses a groan as the Grandmaster hoves into view, the sleeve of his robe swishing along the bushes as he moves. "Sorry to interrupt; hate to get in the middle of a spat but listen— I've got to hand it to you both." He claps a few times. "The fake marriage thing, you pulled it off. I tried it myself for about two seconds but, yeah, Topaz was not having any of it. She's a real professional. It's sad."

"Leave us, please," Loki says through gritted teeth. He can only deal with one egomaniac at a time.

"You, though!" The Grandmaster rounds on Loki, that strange, dangerous half-grin floating along his lips. "Look at you. Landing on your feet again. How is it you always manage to attach yourself to the most powerful guy you can find? I mean, a King. Wow. A bit of a step down from a celestial being of indescribable power but still—" He gestures to himself with a self-deprecating wave of his hand.

"This does not concern you, lunatic," Thor says.

"No, no, course not. Hey, quick question, Lord of Thunder! He ever let you…?" He mimes holding a head at waist height, hips pistoning obscenely. "To keep him quiet?"

Loki feels his face heat. The Grandmaster notices this and crows. "So the incestuous stuff is for real? Oh, this is so much fun."

This is intolerable, being talked about like a piece of furniture or a long-abandoned toy. And yet he cannot work up the spittle in his dry mouth to respond. Thor doesn't speak either, only squares his shoulders and takes a menacing step toward the Grandmaster.

The Grandmaster dances back a foot or two. "No answer? Okay, here's another: does he still do that party trick where he turns into a she?" His eyes blink with false innocence. "Lots of, uh, possibilities, am I right?"

"That isn't a trick," Loki manages say. He notices that Thor's steps have faltered and he's staring at Loki with pale, parted lips, the picture of shock.

"You've shown this creature your lady's shape?" Thor asks.

Loki is about to remind his brother-king that jealousy is unbecoming, but they are interrupted yet again by the noise of something huge crashing through the trees. Thoughts of the loose, man-eating dragon fly through his mind and Loki's hand goes to his boot where his dagger still lies hidden.

A tree is unceremoniously tipped aside as the Hulk steps into view. He grunts at Thor and turns to say over his huge shoulder, "FOUND HIM."

Loki relaxes with a sigh while the Grandmaster flings his arms wide. "My champion! I knew this, this _thug_ had made off with you. You're safe now, promise."

The Hulk frowns down at him. "HUH?"

The Valkyrie appears at the Hulk's side, hand still on the hilt of her sheathed sword. "Your Highness—" she begins, then sees the Grandmaster. "What are you doing here?"

"Scrapper one-four-two! You've been kidnapped also? I mean, you wouldn't have betrayed me, right?" He shifts uncomfortably, a hand going to his cheek. "Oh, huh. You know, it's things like this that make you reevaluate your life…."

The Valkyrie makes a face that says she'll deal with that particular problem later, then turns her attention to Thor. "Sire, two of the children went missing. We left the ship in search of them but—"

"They are safe," Loki says. "Thorunn and Droplaug are with the Hasseeans at the moment."

She lets out a deep breath. "Thank the Nine. Heimdall could not see anything and we feared—"

"HULK WALK IN SWAMP," the Hulk breaks in, lifting his bare, mud-encased foot and growling at it. A dollop of muck slops onto the grass. "FEEL GROSS!"

"Ugh, this planet. I have to get out of here." The Grandmaster makes a face and flicks his fingertips in the direction of the dripping mud. "Maybe turn over a whole new leaf. I don't know."

Thor raises his voice above the clamor. "Is anyone else planning to join us? Or is this everyone who will be interrupting? I am _trying_ to have a conversation with my brother."

"Yes, exactly. Your _brother_ ," Loki snaps.

"What's his problem?" Valkyrie speaks out of the side of her mouth to the Hulk, but it is the Grandmaster who gleefully supplies the answer.

"They're married. Or at least, they will be. Less of a 'will they, won't they?' thing and more of a 'what is truth at its core' type thing. It's a long story, one that I only have, like, half of, so—"

"Will you—!" Thor clamps his mouth shut and breathes deeply like the air will put out the fire in his belly. The Hulk takes the quiet moment to discreetly tap his filthy foot against a nearby tree stump in an effort to dislodge more muck. Then Thor says, "Valkyrie, I'll explain in a moment. Hulk, go...splash around in a pond or something. There's one over that hill." He points to the north, then grasps Loki's elbow. "Brother. A word?" His eyebrows arch in a silent plea.

Loki allows himself to be removed from the immediate circle of allies and enemy. As they go, the Hulk stomps away to find his pond and the Valkyrie turns wide-eyed to argue with the Grandmaster about just what in Hel is going on.

"You'd think there would be privacy on this sleepy little planet," Loki mutters once they're far enough away to speak only to each other. "As I was saying, your proposal, though flattering, is not very— Now what's this look for?" He sees that Thor's face has taken on an angry cast, mouth set in a thin line.

Thor glances over at the Grandmaster, then back to Loki. "I thought perhaps I was the only one who'd ever seen your lady-shape," he says. His voice contains so much hurt, it borders on a pout.

Loki is beside himself with frustration. "Is that really the most pressing matter at hand? Honestly, Thor, it's not as if you own the exclusive right to any of my forms. You wouldn't even if we _were_ married!"

"I know," Thor says, miserable, "but it did not stop me from hoping that I was special to you in some way."

"You—" Loki shuts his mouth swiftly. This is a trap. This is nothing but a ploy and if he's not careful, he will tumble into the snare. "That's not the issue. The trouble, as I've said, is that I cannot marry you. Not really."

"You've told me of the obstacles you foresee, and there is merit to them. But you have not told me your feelings on the matter besides that," Thor says. He reaches once more for Loki's hand but Loki looks sharply over at Valkyrie, who would surely notice such a gesture, and Thor relents with a sigh. "Marriage, they say, is about sacrifice. I cannot promise every day married to me would be easy, but I am willing to do the hard work required if it means having you standing proudly at my side. That is what lives inside my heart. Now what of yours?"

"Last night you said you knew better than to ask me about my heart," Loki says in a low voice.

"Perhaps some day I will learn to follow my own advice, but not today." Thor offers a weak smile which falls away, painting his face in steadfast yearning. "Tell me, Loki. Do you want to marry me?"

Loki hesitates. He can almost see the life Thor is offering, a hazy shade up ahead in the distance. Days spent seated on his own throne beside Thor's, feast days with the children laughing at their feet, evenings spent curled together in their bed. But that is an illusion. The reality is that sooner or later, Loki will need to leave. And how could he, once he has a taste of this? He would arrive on Midgard, too busy staring at his husband and their little family with besotted eyes to notice the manacles closing on his wrists.

Easier, really, to do this cleanly. Anything else would be base cruelty, like letting a landed fish gasp out its life on the sand. He stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, chin tipped high in the air. "Of course I don't," he says.

His head pounds as he watches Thor's face crumble. He's not used to mercy; is it supposed to feel so horrid, like ice-cold oil turning to stone in his veins? It's better this way, but it is also so awful.

"Thor," he says as Thor turns from him. "Please understand—" The ground beneath his feet shakes once, twice, three times, a fourth. He assumes it to be the Hulk, trundling back from his trip to the pond. He turns with a put-upon growl. "Would you please give us a few seconds of—"

But he is silenced. It is not the Hulk that has thumped and shuddered its way to their little clearing in the woods. It is a dragon, terrible and green as bile, its scales glinting in the sunlight and each as large as a man, its wedge of a head tilting on its swaying neck. It towers above the forest. Fire licks at its mouth, smoke curling like the ashes of the dead into the air. Everyone else is frozen, and so is Loki.

This is the thing that spoke to him in the dark. The Nidhogg.

It speaks now, jaws gaping wide, glass globe eyes rolling before settling on Loki. "Prince of Lies," the Nidhogg roars, "I have come for you. The falsehoods you utter even now have called me. For too long I have hungered, but you will be my greatest feast."

"Excuse me." Thor raises his hand in greeting, waving it until the dragon's eyes roll to him. "Hello, hi. Quick point of clarification: do you mean that whatever Loki's just said is not true?"

Loki does not scream, but it's a near thing. Can nothing be simple these days?

Twin streams of smoke escape the dragon's nostrils. "Yes, the lies of this so-called God are a beacon to me and none so powerful as the one spoken in these last moments, for I, the Nidhogg—"   

The Valkyrie unsheathes her sword and holds it at the ready. "My King?"

"Thank you, that's all I needed, actually," Thor says to the dragon, then looks at Loki, cracking his knuckles and his neck to one side, then the other. "We will talk later."

"Right." Loki takes his knife from his boot and falls into a fighting stance at Thor's side. "After we kill this latest interruption."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a very long time. Writing is hard and I made a mistake in doing it. 
> 
> Please like my art. If you leave a comment or [reblog](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/170993245297/vows-from-a-dagger-chapter-11) I would love you forever.


	12. Chapter 12

Loki remembers his first kill in every detail: a doe, pelt heavy with morning dew, blinking sleepily at him in the low light of deep forest. He had frozen alongside his brother, the two of them just children, their hunting bows stiff with newness. Loki had sent his arrow cleanly into the animal's breast and when it died on the mossy ground, Thor had clapped him on the shoulder and shook him, bursting with pride. 

Sometimes he wonders if all the violence and death he's caused since has been some sort of pathetic attempt at recapturing that look in Thor's eyes, shining at him with all the strength of the sun. 

Or maybe he's just very good at killing in a way that has nothing to do with Thor. 

At any rate, he does not have time to philosophize on his talents as he lunges at the great dragon before him, dagger at the ready. He's driven by fury—at Thor, at himself, at this ridiculous situation they've found themselves in, at this beast who dares to unravel his lies. 

He does not expect his dagger to do much against those armored scales, so he calls forth his seidr as he moves, demanding that it fashion itself into a weapon fit for a dragon. Something icy, perhaps, to combat that fiery breath. And yet as the gold and green seidr appears in the air around him, it just as quickly dissipates like snowmelt. 

Loki stops. Stares at his hand. Tries again to call forth his magic, but it only sputters weakly before again falling away. It's still there below the surface but it's as if something has weighed it down, keeping it from manifesting properly.

"Thor?" he shouts, and then hates himself for instinctively seeking safe harbor in his brother. Still, he must be told— "My magic isn't working." 

The Nidhogg's mouth widens in a ghastly reptilian grin. "Yes, I have that effect on people." It swings its head closer to Loki, fangs bared. 

Loki switches his grip on the hilt of his dagger, more than ready to fight with whatever is available, but Thor steps between him and the beast. Lightning crackles along his skin; his eye, when he turns to nod at Loki over his shoulder, is a pool of pure light. 

"I will handle it," Thor says, and no sooner has he raised his arms than the lightning fizzles out. Thor is left blinking at his bare hands too. "What in the—?"

"Your powers won't work, geniuses!" The Valkyrie slashes with her sword at a huge paw that threatens to swipe her aside. "It must absorb them somehow." 

The Nidhogg laughs like this is all very delightful. "My very presence strips you down to the truth of you. That is my way."

"No matter." Thor rolls his shoulders. "Bare fists will do." He catches a talon before it can pierce his belly and for a moment, Loki still believes this fight will be like so many others he's fought at Thor's side: easy and simple. But all it takes is one blow from the creature's long, muscled tail and Thor flies far away, directly into a tree. Loki winces at the distant sound of the wood splintering. That has to hurt.

"I could eat the lot of you," the dragon snarls. "Liars, all. But I would content myself with just this one." He swivels his head back to Loki. "Give me the Lying God and our quarrel is done." 

"It's not done by half," the Valkyrie says, and swings herself up onto the great, glistening back of the beast as if it were one of her winged mounts of old. She holds her sword in both hands high above her head and drives it down like a spear in the join between two scales. 

An amused chuff falls from the dragon's mouth. "Would you try to prick a man to death with a sewing needle? This does me no harm at all." The Nidhogg shakes its massive body like a wet dog might and the Valkyrie, too, goes flying, wheeling into the distance with her sword in hand.

Loki shifts his weight back on his heels. Without magic, without his allies, there is only one way he can see forward. "Perhaps we could strike a deal," he says. 

The dragon's head falls toward him, its fire-laced breath burning his upturned face, hot as a funeral pyre. "There are no deals with me," says the Nidhogg. "There is only my hunger and your body, chewed up between my teeth. You cannot stop me." 

Loki finds he has nothing to say to that. Then a huge roar comes rolling into the clearing, startling him from his thoughts. The Hulk, dripping wet, lumbers into view and takes stock of the scene with beady, unimpressed eyes. 

"Finally," Loki says under his breath. Relief courses through him, making him bold. He gifts the Nidhogg with a smirk. "Don't say I didn't give you a chance. Hulk? This creature fancies itself the strongest on the planet. What do you say to that?"

The Hulk rears back and beats his chest with a fist. "HULK STRONGEST," he bellows before charging at the dragon, head down and grunting like an animal. 

He gets within arm's length of the Nidhogg before the transformation begins. The Hulk falls to his knees, skin pulsing grotesquely, his contorted mouth screaming in pain to the sky.

"Well, shit," Loki says to himself. "I should have realized that would happen." Now only Bruce Banner is left on the battlefield, just a shivering, naked, and entirely confused human. 

Banner stares up at the dragon before threading his shaking fingers into his tousled hair. "Okay. Okay. That's not good." He twists wildly, eyes darting for anything familiar until they land on Loki. "Hey. W-what the hell are we doing now?" 

"At the moment? Failing miserably. Move!" Loki pulls Banner aside with only inches to spare as the Nidhogg's talons scrape along the ground. 

"Is that a dragon? Did we go back in time? Where's Thor? How come I'm wet!?" 

"Would you shut up?" The claws swipe at them once more and this time, Loki is ready. He jabs his dagger in the most vulnerable spot he can reach, underneath the razor's edge of the talon, in the very nail bed. The Nidhogg screams and pulls its appendage away with haste, black blood spurting and coating the blade still in Loki's grasp.

"You will pay for that," it snarls. It spins around, its huge tail crashing through trees and bramble toward them. 

Loki braces for the blow, gripping Banner's arm tightly, but the Valkyrie leaps to their defense and strikes the tail away with her sword. The Nidhogg roars, stomping around in a slow circle to face them once again. Valkyrie takes the opportunity to go to Banner's side. 

"Take this," she says, and unclasps her blue cape from her armored shoulders. Banner wraps the cloak around himself. 

"This is a fight, we're in a fight," he stutters, "but the Hulk isn't coming out. He, he should be—" 

"This creature is preventing us from using any powers," Loki says. Then, to Valkyrie, "Get him clear of here. He's useless like this."

Banner's eye bulge. "Oh,  _ I'm _ useless? You brought the tiniest knife ever to kill a dragon!"

The Valkyrie shakes her head. "Come on." She pulls him to his feet and leads the stumbling mortal toward the thick woods at a fast clip. 

Loki circles around the Nidhogg to hold its attention as the pair make their escape. "Looking for the choicest morsel, beast? I'm right here!" 

"Taunt me at your own peril." The dragon snaps at him with its massive fangs, but the Nidhogg's size makes it slow, and Loki finds he is able to dodge and roll out of the way from both teeth and talons.

"Stand your ground, coward!" the dragon roars, turning in slow frustration as Loki runs beneath its huge belly and slides along the ground to its opposite flank. 

"I don't think I will." Loki ducks underneath a clawed hand once more. Undignified but effective. He can do this all day if he has to. The dragon, on the other hand, seems to already be huffing from its exertions. "You're very slow; did you know that? Are you so used to chasing after stubby-legged Hasseeans that you cannot catch me?" 

The Nidhogg rears its head back and growls. "You insolent little snipe. If you will not meet your fate in my jaws, so be it. I will find others to feast upon." Those dark, glassy eyes narrow to mere slits. "Like the two little false Princesses, I think."

Loki's fingers tighten on the hilt of his dagger. "You will not touch them," he says. His voice is shot through with jagged anger. 

"Who will stop me?" the dragon asks. "I can sense them nearby in the village. So many lies already for ones so young; your influence, I'm sure. And although they are very small, I suspect they will sustain my hunger. At least until I can have you." The Nidhogg turns toward the Hasseean settlement, its huge legs shaking the ground as it walks. 

"No!" Loki cries. He chases after the beast with no real plan in mind. His magic is still imprisoned inside him, struggling to burst free, to stop this monster from reaching his girls. But he's helpless, armed with just a small knife, and the thought that he might fail in this makes the air freeze in his lungs. He'll die before he lets that happen.

The dragon lurches to a stop mid-step and for a moment Loki believes his magic has returned and is holding his enemy still. 

"What—?" The Nidhogg swivels its head to look over its huge shoulder, flames curling from its mouth. It's then that Loki sees what the dragon sees: Thor, a trickle of blood running down his face, holding the beast by the tail, teeth gritted and muscles bunched with the strain. 

Thor's eyepatch must have been lost in his fall; the black pit of his empty eye socket is stark upon his face. "Go!" he shouts. "Get the girls to safety!" 

Loki hesitates. There is a war within him. As much as he needs to see to the children, he is loath to leave Thor to face the dragon alone. 

Then, in a streak of gold and shimmering blue, the Grandmaster appears beside Thor. He takes hold of the dragon's tail as well, arresting its movements entirely. He flashes a lopsided smile. "You heard the big man. Go, go, go." 

Thor stares at him with his one eye blown wide in surprise. "Where have you been? And why are you helping?" he asks.

"Come on." The Grandmaster pants with the effort of holding onto the lashing tail. "Who else am I going to catch a ride with?" Then, to Loki, "Well? Get moving!" 

No need to be told again. Loki sheaths the bloody dagger in his boot and runs. 

He remembers well the path back to their little borrowed lightbox and right next to it, the home occupied by Salerno's family. He runs at full speed, much like he ran into the vault at the end of the world. His aching legs pump even faster when he crests a hill and sees Thorunn and Droplaug ahead, two bright spots of blue and yellow amid the silver-clothed Hasseean children, engaged in some sort of ball game.

Thorunn is the first to look up and see him. "Master Loki?" 

Loki does not slow or pause, not even for breath. He has no idea how long Thor and the Grandmaster might manage to hold back the dragon. It might be at his heels. "No time to explain. We must go. Hurry!" He catches their hands in his, Thorunn on his right, Droplaug, his left. 

"But we're winning," Droplaug says. Despite her protests, she and her sister are already running alongside him as fast as their shorter legs can carry them. 

"Find shelter!" Loki calls to the one named Mims, who blinks in surprise as he flies by. "It's coming!" A roar proves him correct, much too close for comfort. He urges the children to run faster. "Don't look back," he tells them, and for some reason he cannot fathom, they obey him. 

They run from the village and into the woods, where Loki hopes the close trees and brush will slow the huge monster's progress. But then what? Should they head for the ship? Away from it? Which direction is it anyway? Loki's heart pounds like an overworked forge, his grip crushing his girls' little hands. He doesn't know what to do. 

"Where are we going?" Thorunn asks. 

"Somewhere safe," Loki says, and immediately regrets his lie. He can hear the triumphant howl of the Nidhogg close behind them, tracking him like a hunting dog. He looks around the thick vines and brambles of the scrub forest, searching wildly for a haven that will give his words a ring of truth. In a shadowed nook of rock, he sees a small hole. "Here, over here." 

He pulls the girls toward it and peers into the little cavern. It's shallow, only a few dozen feet or so deep, but the mouth is narrow enough, he hopes, to keep out the Nidhogg's huge wedge of a head. "In you go, girls. Come on, up, up, up." He lifts Thorunn into the cavern first, then Droplaug. The ground shakes. He can hear the dragon's animal growls getting closer. 

The girls' wide eyes look back at him from the dark. "What about you?" Thorunn asks. 

"Please don't leave us here alone," Droplaug cries. 

Loki braces his hands on either side of the opening and attempts to heave himself into the thing, but it's no good. It's too small. He realizes it the same instant as the children do, and they stare at each other through the little gap in shared terror.

"Pappa," Thorunn whimpers. She clutches at her sister, the both of them shaking.

No time to think. Loki merely prays that the beast is not so close as to dampen his magic. He closes his eyes and calls on his second most-practiced shape, small and delicate and desperate.

She tumbles through the hole and into the cavern. The girls gasp, then cry out when in the next moment the stone all around them shudders. The Nidhogg roars just outside the cave, bashing itself into the rock in frustration. 

"Don't be afraid," Loki says and gathers the girls to her, an arm around each of them. "I've got you. It's all right."

"What is that thing?" Droplaug whispers. 

"It's the Nidhogg," Thorunn answers before Loki can. "It chased us in our nightmares. It's come to eat us."

"I won't let it." Loki holds them tighter. "Shush now. Be very quiet and it might go away."

The Nidhogg's glassy eye appears in the opening of the cavern, blinking once. Its voice echoes down to them. "Do you really think I'm that foolish, Lying Goddess? There's no way out for you except into my jaws."

Loki musters her most nonchalant tone and replies, "Well, I'm afraid you'll be waiting out there for a very long time because we are not going anywhere." 

"You can't stay in there forever."

"Watch me," Loki snaps, then quieter, to the girls, "We need only wait for Thor or one of our friends to come for us. Or we will simply outlast the dragon's vigil. There's nothing to fear." She realizes that both children are staring up at her not in fright, but in wonder. "What is it?" 

Thorunn reaches up and touches a long lock of her loose black hair. "You changed," she says. 

"It called you Goddess." Droplaug glances meaningfully at the mouth of the cave. "What does it mean?" 

"Oh. That." Loki wets her dry lips and shifts, her leathers creaking as she moves. It's uncomfortable on the cold dirt floor, but there's no alternative. "You see, my darlings—"

"Careful," the Nidhogg snorts from somewhere just out of sight, outside their cave. "Lie now and you might drive me mad with hunger."

"I didn't plan on it!" Loki shouts at the patch of sky up ahead. "Not that it's any business of yours!" Then, composing herself somewhat, she says, "Like I was saying, dearhearts, this is one of my forms. As you know, I am an accomplished shapeshifter, but this shape is…." How best to explain for their young minds? "One of my favorites." 

Thorunn's hand moves from Loki's hair to touch her face, running a fingertip down the soft plane of her cheek. "It's still you, though," Thorunn says. "It's not like the illusions you taught us, is it?"

"Such a clever child," Loki says, and covers Thorunn's hand with her own, pressing it against her lips to kiss it. "The King calls it my lady's shape. Sometimes I am this, and sometimes I am as you've most often seen me. Even if I had no magic and could not change my form, I would be this way still." The girls look up at her with the largest eyes she's ever seen. She pauses to shake a dried leaf from her hair, clearing her throat as she does so. "I know it must be rather confusing for you but—"  

"It is not so confusing," says Droplaug. "It's only, we are very lucky to have both a mother and a father in you. Is that not wonderful?" She turns to her sister. "Like a fairytale."

Thorunn nods. "Yes, but—" She squints at Loki. "The word Pappa does not fit so well now, does it? Shall we call you something else?" 

"Oh, my lovely girls." Loki feels something splinter in her chest, and she squeezes the children to her sides. "I do not deserve you." The air in their little cavern must be awfully dusty; her eyes are watering so much, there can be no other explanation. 

"Hmph," grunts the Nidhogg from its spot outside their cave.

Droplaug speaks up, her cheeks spotted with high color in her excitement. "The Hasseean children that played with us today, they called their parent Pumi instead of Mother or Father. Isn't that a sweet word? Maybe we could call you that."

"Pumi?" Loki says the word slowly and with a suspicious curl of her lip. It sounds more like a fluffy pet than a parent.

Droplaug's face falls. She looks down at her hands, folded demurely in her lap. "Never mind, Master— I mean, Mistress Loki. It was a silly idea."

"My dearest Droplet." Loki's heart clenches like a fist. She would rather be named something embarrassing than see that look on her little one's face. She strokes a hand over Droplaug's braids and says, "It's a wonderful idea. I would be honored."

"Truly?" Droplaug grins up at her. 

"Ask the dragon if I'm lying." Loki tips her chin toward the cave entrance with a raise of her eyebrow. "It can tell."

"Is Mistress Loki lying, Nidhogg?" the girl calls. 

The dragon groans, moving and shaking the stone walls once more. "Not as such," it answers grudgingly. 

"You see? Pumi I shall be," Loki says. 

The girls laugh and hug her, the both of them trying out their new endearment on their tongues, saying it over and over again until they are all helplessly giggling. Loki looks up to the cave entrance and catches the huge, watchful eye of the Nidhogg. She sobers at that, but forces her voice to be light when she speaks to the children. 

"It will be dark soon. I want you to close your eyes and try to get some sleep." No telling if they'll need to run or fight at any moment; the girls need to keep up their strength. 

Outside the dragon lets loose a volley of bitter laughter. "As if these  _ Princesses _ will be able to sleep knowing I am right here! Pretend this is a game all you like, but you know that I am deadly serious." 

"And I know these children," Loki snarls. "They lived through the attacks of my terrible sister. They watched over each other when no one else could. When our home was razed in flame and death, they survived. They've faced worse than you, monster, and you will call them the Princesses of Asgard without that nasty tone in your voice, for that is what they are!" 

"Oh, Pumi." Thorunn throws her skinny arms around Loki's neck. "I love you so." 

Loki blinks, a little surprised, before returning the embrace. "And I, you. Both of you." 

Droplaug seems incapable of speaking through her tears, and Loki wipes them from her cheek. "Are these happy ones?" she asks softly, and hugs the girl when she nods her head. "Good. Now please try to rest, darlings. Don't listen to that thing out there." 

The girls settle down to sleep as the last of the weak daylight slips away from their little cave. Loki remains awake, watching over them, listening intently for any movement outside and hearing only the rumbling breath of the Nidhogg. It is a strange silence she shares with the dragon, neither of them speaking but intensely aware of each other. 

"You must understand," the Nidhogg finally says in the dark, "that just because you've convinced these children to love you, it does not change your fate. You have lied and cheated and hurt and killed all your life; a drop of kindness at this late date makes no difference." 

"No, I don't imagine it would. Not to you, at least. To them?" Loki shrugs one shoulder. "Perhaps it does." She runs a careful hand over their heads, checking to make sure they sleep soundly. "That is what matters to me."

The Nidhogg growls low. "Foolish bitch, you cannot trick me. I have seen into the core of you. This must be a ruse or some passing fancy. You care for nothing but yourself in the end."

"True, I do. Or at least I did," she says, thinking. "I suppose we'll see." 

"Or you could come out of your hole and let me chew on your bones," the dragon suggests. "Then this would be wrapped up very neatly." 

"I am staying," Loki says, getting more comfortable against the cool stone wall at her back, "right here." 

"Fine." The Nidhogg huffs and seems to settle on the forest floor if the rustling noises are any indication. 

Loki stays awake for as long as she is able but the night grows long and she is very tired. After much nodding off and jerking awake to check on the girls, she finally slips into a dreamless sleep. 

Daybreak wakes her with its sunlight slanting into her eyes and the cries of morning birds on the wind. Loki rouses and checks on the girls, who still doze on the ground. She listens; no dragon's breath that she can detect, and the birds sounds are new. Perhaps they are a sign that the danger is passed. 

Loki creeps on hand and foot to the mouth of the cave and peeks outside with the utmost caution. All she sees is an empty scar on the ground where the massive beast had flattened all the plants within it. The Nidhogg is nowhere to be found. Did it get tired of its wait or is it hidden nearby, hoping to surprise them? It makes little difference. They need to go if they can. The fact that Thor has not found them worries Loki to no end. 

She shakes the girls' shoulders until they sit up blearily, rubbing the sand from their eyes. "The dragon is gone, I think," she tells them. "We're going back to the ship. Follow me, darlings."

The trek through the woods is slow going. The girls drag their feet, complaining of exhaustion and hunger, while Loki conjures a compass in the air to determine the way. The compass floats ahead of them like a glowing golden sprite. Loki keeps one eye always upon it; if it flickers, she will know the Nidhogg approaches. 

But the little magic canary never wavers as they walk. Thorunn eventually succeeds in convincing Loki to carry her upon her back. Droplaug stumbles along at Loki's side, clutching her hand and mumbling that she can do it on her own. 

At last the trees and brushes thin out, and their slog through the wooded swamp ends in the clearing where the ship awaits them. Loki feels relief pour through her at the sight of the great metal shape up ahead, and she jostles her shoulder where Thorunn has rested her head to sleep. 

"We're home. Get down, dearheart, I need to shift back into my Master's shape." 

"Why?" Thorunn asks, though she obediently slides down Loki's back to land on the ground. 

"Because the others would be confused by this form. It's just easier this way." Loki takes a deep breath and shifts. His eyes slide open. "There we are," he says in his deeper voice. He takes Thorunn's hand as well. "Now let's—"

"Pumi?" Droplaug's voice shakes. "Something's wrong."

Loki's head jerks up. He sees now: smoke is pouring from the far side of the ship, thick and black. Fear crawls up his throat and steals his tongue. His instinct is to run ahead, to see what's the matter, to get word of Thor— But the children need him more than he needs that comfort.

They approach the ship slowly, Loki motioning the girls behind him as they walk. As they near the cargo bay doors, they see that the ship is tilted to one side, landing gear snapped and laying in twisted heaps. Asgardians and aliens alike are scattered, too, on the grassy ground, some clutching at injured limbs and others eerily still. It's chaos, people calling for help, for healing salve, for answers. Others are rushing around the source of the smoke at the back of the ship with buckets of water. 

Loki sees a flash of red at the corner of his eye. Thor. He's speaking to one of the healers, a blackened sword clutched in one hand, blood matted in his sweat-soaked hair. Thor turns and meets Loki's gaze, his remaining eye going wide and round.

"Loki!" 

They rush toward each other, catching each other up in a hard embrace. Loki wonders if such an unseemly display will be noticed by their people, but his relief at seeing Thor is greater than his shame. 

Thor pulls away but keeps a hand on the back of Loki's neck, as if he cannot bear to be too far from him. "I was so worried." He looks to the girls, standing a few yards off, watching the swirl of activity around them. "Are you—?"

The healer Thor had been speaking with approaches and attempts to lay a salve-covered hand to a gash at Thor's temple but Thor waves her away. "See to the others first," he commands.

"We're fine," Loki says as the healer bows and moves on. He itches to touch Thor's sluggishly bleeding wound with a whisper of magic. "What about you? What's happened here?"

"The Nidhogg," Thor growls. "It attacked before dawn. I was searching for some sign of you and the children in the forest, but it was dark and I—" He shakes his head. "I heard the screams. The monster was screeching like a thing possessed. It kept demanding you be handed over and it wrecked havoc before fleeing."

Loki's blood runs cold. "We need to leave," he says. Thor's face contorts with emotion, but he continues before Thor can interrupt. "I know the Hasseeans need our help but they have the protection of their honest nature. Asgardians are vulnerable. This creature can track us, steal our power, leave us defenseless. I am making it worse just by being here. If we don't get off this planet—"

"My love," Thor says, low enough that the bustle of people around them will not hear, "we cannot leave."

"If you would just listen—!"

"No, love, I mean—" Thor sighs. Drops his hand from the nape of Loki's neck. "The ship's engines have been destroyed. We're trapped here." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kinds words/kudos/reblogs! We're getting there.
> 
> Next time: imminent danger? Time for a wedding!


	13. Chapter 13

Upon being told that they're stranded, Loki's first thought is for the tesseract. The glowing cube would have him free of this place within moments, away from the dragon that wants him dead, far from the insanity of the last few days. It's the perfect solution. He thinks of it immediately—but cannot go to it. There is the aftermath of the attack to deal with first. 

Thor leads him to the area where the injured are laid out in jagged rows. "Could you—?" he begins to say, but Loki does not need to be told. He snaps off his bracers and lets them fall to the ground, knowing they will only impede his healing magics. 

"Point me to the worst of them," he asks one of the healers who is doing her best at patchwork. "Girls," he calls to the children, "assist with the salves. Just as I've shown you."

"Yes, Master Loki," they say in unison before making themselves useful.

"Thank you," Thor breathes in his ear as he bends over a shattered knee and begins to piece it back together. "The fires are still raging. I should—"

"Go." Loki tips his chin in the direction of the smoldering engines. "I'll find you when I'm done."

The work is bloody and there is too much of it, but he does what he can. He works alongside the healer and tries not to look into the faces of the most grievously injured. Better to concentrate on his magic then to upset the poor souls with idle chatter. When the last bone is fused back together, the healer touches his gore-slick hand, a gentle smile on her lined face.

"There's only one patient left, Lord Advisor," she says. "Do you think you could convince the King to rest long enough for me to see to his wounds?" 

Loki wipes his hands on his cape, leaving behind rusty stains. He'll need to burn the thing later. "I can certainly try, Lady…." He realizes he knows her only by sight from his work in the sick bay. "I'm terribly sorry; I don't recall your name." 

"It's Bridget," says the healer. "Come. Perhaps the two of us together would be more persuasive." She gives Loki a little wink. 

How strange to be treated with such friendliness by this matronly woman. Loki reminds himself that as their last magic-adept, he can't be completely snubbed by the healers. Surely they whisper among themselves like the other Asgardians do, wondering when their Trickster Prince will turn on them again. He follows her across the grass, pondering this.

They find Thor at the smoking engines, speaking in low tones with a very rumpled and confused-looking Banner. Loki eyes the Midgardian's choice of raiment, an obviously borrowed too-big tunic. He looks like a child swimming in an older sibling's cast-off clothes.

"It's the only stuff I could find," Banner says in response to his look. "At least I'm not covered in blood." 

Loki gives him an unimpressed look before he unclasps his gore-soaked cape from his shoulders, letting it fall away to the ashy ground. 

"We were just speaking of how best to repair the damage." Thor stoops to allow the healer a chance to smear her healing salve on his bleeding temple. "Thank you, Lady Bridget. Banner, tell my brother your plan." 

"Well, I was thinking—" The mortal's eyes shift to Loki, who waits patiently for him to continue, but Banner just blinks and looks away. "Sorry, this is weird. I'm still catching up. Are we good with him now? Is that the deal?" He asks this of Thor, hooking a thumb in Loki's direction.

Loki bristles, but Thor speaks before he can. "Loki has proven himself a stalwart ally since last you saw him. You can speak freely. I trust him." 

Bridget gives Banner an encouraging nod as if to say she, too, stands by her King's statement. Loki is oddly touched by the gesture and stares at her a little longer than he probably should before looking away. When exactly did he become capable of earning anyone's trust? 

"Okay, well." Banner scratches a hand through his tousled hair. "I'm not an engineer to begin with, and these alien systems aren't my wheelhouse exactly, but some of the tech is similar enough to stuff that Tony and I worked on. I think I can rebuild the parts that make it, um, go. But it will take some time." 

"How much time?" Loki asks. 

"A week, at least."

A curse is bitten off in Loki's mouth. He needs the tesseract in his hand. Now. "We do not have a week." 

"Yeah, I know. Dragon. Listen, someone's really going to have to catch me up on everything," Banner complains, turning to Thor. "This is like waking up in the middle of someone else's acid trip."

"Lord Advisor?" Bridget lifts her gaze to Loki and gestures to a gash on Thor's shoulder. "If you would?" 

Loki places his palm on his brother's skin and allows his seidr to pulse greenly over it. He thinks aloud as he works. "The beast could return at any moment. We need to be on guard." 

"I will speak to the Valkyrie," Thor says. "She and her apprentices must prepare themselves. Sheer numbers might be what it takes to put a stop to the creature's rampages." 

"Those apprentices are mere children," Loki protests. He thinks of his own girls and the danger they so recently escaped. "We cannot have them face the Nidhogg." 

"They are no younger than you and I were when we first saw battle." 

"I thought we wanted better for Asgard than what came before," Loki snaps. "And I say they are too young." He lifts his hand to check the wound. It's healed over, blood flaking away. "There. It might sting for a day or so. Take care not to overdo it." 

"My thanks." Thor flexes his arm as if testing it. "And while I wish I could keep the apprentices from war for many more years, we have little choice at the moment." 

Loki shakes his head but cannot rightly argue with his brother on that point.

Banner's eyes bounce wildly between the two of them. "Okay, am I the only one seeing this? There's, like, a weird vibe going on here." 

Thor stands a little straighter and clears his throat. "There is no vibe," he intones in an attempt at a kingly voice. 

"There's definitely a vibe." Banner squints at him. "It's like you're an old married couple." 

Loki stiffens. He thinks he catches a look of resigned agreement on Bridget's face, but she quickly marshals her features into something approaching disinterest when she catches Loki's eye. 

"My King," she says deftly, "may we move the injured back onto the ship or is the danger still too great?" 

"Banner, it's stable now, yes?" At the mortal's distracted nod, Thor gestures for her to move forward. "Take the girls, Thorunn and Droplaug, to assist you. My brother has trained them in the healing arts and they know the craft well enough."

"Thank you, sire." She leaves with a bow. 

Loki sees a chance to get his hands on the tesseract while at the same time getting far away from Banner and his annoyingly perceptive observations. "We should take a look onboard and assess what needs to be repaired," he says to Thor, lifting his brows, heavy with meaning. 

They leave Banner to his struggles with the engines and head for the cargo bay, the tesseract at the forefront of Loki's whirling mind.

He thinks of how he will explain away the tesseract to Thor. It's too late now to tell the truth; Thor would be furious to know the artifact was with them this entire time, a secret that Loki kept to himself. And Loki can't actually lie about how he came to possess it lest the Nidhogg arrive and spoil everything. He realizes now exactly what he must do: act first, explain later. He will simply command the tesseract to transport all of them—the entire ship—somewhere safe before anyone can protest. It will bear them somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's far from Midgard. Once he's saved their people, no one will much care how he did it. He might even say it was some powerful, arcane spell he'd only just managed to weave. No one will question him, the King's trusted advisor.

It's the only way Loki will be able to stay with his girls. With Thor. His pulse races. It will all be so easy once the tesseract is in his grasp. Then his life can truly begin.

They climb up the gangway, careful on the twisted slope of it. There are still plenty of people bustling about, and it isn't until they cross the threshold of their shared quarters that they are finally alone. Thor is upon Loki the instant the door slides shut, big hands framing his face.

"I thought I'd lost you," Thor says before kissing him. It's a desperate sort of kiss, as if Thor must memorize his mouth in case they are ever separated again. Loki allows it but keeps his eyes open and looking about the room, unwilling to indulge his weaker feelings before his task is complete. 

Their little nest has gone from comfortably messy to an absolute disaster. Everything that wasn't bolted down had been tossed across the floor in the attack. Little glass vials lie shattered on the carpet and the mirror upon one wall has suffered a massive crack. Still locked in the kiss, Loki looks over Thor's shoulder to where he'd hidden the tesseract behind a secret panel, and his eyes widen in horror. 

The panel is open. The chamber within stands empty. 

His magical wards must have dissipated when the Nidhogg arrived. The creature's ability to undo his spellwork certainly complicates things. His thoughts race: he must find the tesseract, the only thing that will save them.

Thor seems to notice his distraction and ends the kiss with a soft touch of his lips to Loki's cheek. "Are you well, my love?" 

"I— To be honest?" Loki looks around at the chaos, desperately searching for the tesseract's telltale glow but seeing nothing. Where in the Nine did it go? "I admit I'm worried," he says. 

Thor gives a brief huff of laughter, soft and warm against Loki's neck. "It is a good thing, you being honest," he says. "I wouldn't want that dragon called back here by a lie. We must be especially careful with our words now." He pulls away to fix Loki with a smug look. "For example, on the subject of our upcoming marriage—" 

"Will you please give that a rest?" Loki breaks free of Thor's embrace and paces across the room in restless frustration, calculated, of course, to also give him a chance to look for the tesseract. His gaze bounces along the floor as he walks, and he kicks aside detritus in his search, but still he sees no sign of it. If Thor would leave him alone for a moment, he could be more thorough but it seems that Thor is in no mood to drop his line of conversation. 

Thor follows him to where he stands by the large window, now looking out on the tangle of forest instead of the stars. "I know you want to marry me, so why will you not do what pleases you, as you've always done?" 

"Ah, yes, and that's worked so  _ well _ in the past," Loki murmurs, his eyes still darting about the debris. Could it have been stolen? Has someone taken it in all the confusion? If that's the case, they are royally, inextricably fucked. "Shouldn't we be focusing on our more pressing obligations, like the fire-breathing dragon that threatens our kingdom?" 

"We may as well be wed first and collect the Hasseean's reward once we slay the beast." Thor smiles and takes his hands in his own. "And we will figure out a way to slay the beast. I swear it."

Loki gives a finely executed shrug although inside he is screeching in frustration. "I told you, I'm perfectly willing to perform some ceremony so the deal with the Hasseeans can be completed." 

"And I am asking you: might we not invite all our people to witness it?" Thor shifts on his feet. His eye is set like a yearning jewel in his face. "We could be married truthfully, openly, without artifice. Do you not want that?" 

Loki opens his mouth, then closes it. He does not have time for this ludicrous argument when the tesseract has been lost. What can he say that is not a lie but not so close to the truth as to condemn him? "I do want to marry you," he says, and Thor's face is alight with hope, only to be dashed by Loki's next words. "But not like this. Not forced by circumstance or without readiness."

"Forced?" Thor sounds aghast. "Who forces you to do anything?"

"Thor…." Loki pulls his hands from Thor's hold and massages his pounding temples. It's like arguing with a wall. 

"No, tell me." That famous temper comes roaring to the surface like a sudden squall on what seemed like a clear day. "Explain who forced you into my arms, my bed. Did I enchant you somehow without realizing it?"

"Oh, calm down," Loki says, which of course has the exact opposite effect. "You're working yourself up over nothing."

"Do not lecture me," Thor seethes. "I have been as gentle with you as possible. I have not pushed. I have not prodded. And I do not understand how you can want to marry me but have no one know—" The rage seeps from his face, leaving it slack and pale. 

"What's the matter?" Loki asks, grasping Thor's wrist. For a moment, he thinks perhaps his brother has taken ill very suddenly.

Thor speaks as if in a dream. "Perhaps I am asking the wrong thing." His singular gaze falls on Loki's face. "Loki, do you love me?"

For a long moment, Loki cannot move. When he finally regains control of his senses, he scoffs and turns away, dropping his hold on Thor. "What kind of ridiculous question is that?"

"One that you refuse to answer, apparently." Thor's voice is awash with hurt. "I was convinced of your love our first night together in this room though you gave me no tender words. I thought it just wasn't your way, that I shouldn't expect declarations from you, that they didn't matter as long as I knew you loved me deep in your heart. But now I wonder, am I wrong? Do you wish to marry me, but only for convenience? Do you love me the way I love you, Loki?" 

Loki freezes, his tongue motionless in his dry mouth. What can he say? Thor makes it sound so simple, a mere yes or no, when it's anything but. The truth of the matter is, he has always loved Thor and as far as he can tell, he always will. But it is not the love that Thor means, the one they speak of in the poetic eddas, pure and clean and unadulterated. How can he explain the length and breadth of a love that became so entwined with jealousy it was hardly recognizable? Can it be called love when he wanted to worship Thor but also bring him low in the same breath? Two competing desires, equally desperate: it drove Loki to the brink of madness, and he had stepped over the threshold in the hope that one side would win over the other and he would be free of it all. 

He'd known exactly what he'd been doing when he'd turned on Thor and became his enemy. He has no idea what he's doing now. What is he turning into? Who will he be tomorrow? He can't exactly pretend that those horrid things do not dwell in him still; even now he finds himself jealous of Thor, who has found his place as king and hero, while Loki has no real place.

So yes, of course Thor has his love. The question in Loki's mind, however, is why would he want such an ugly, twisted thing as that.  

These are thoughts that cannot be given voice. He cannot lie, damn that dragon. But if he tells Thor the entire truth, it would be— 

Well.

The fool might come to his senses and toss Loki aside for a more suitable consort. 

And so Loki is trapped once more, and without a tesseract to spirit him to safety. Thor stares at him as the silence stretches between them until finally he turns away, his head bowed. "There's nothing left to say, then." 

Loki snaps out of his stupor and reaches for Thor's arm. He must fix this. "No, Thor, it's not—" 

A tap on the window startles them both. They whirl about to see Salerno outside, waving at them through the glass. Their mouth moves but the window is too thick to allow in any sound. Loki swallows a curse.

"We can't hear you," Loki says, pointing at his own ear. "Come— Yes, come inside. That way." There's a lot of pointing and smiling and nodding, and then their little liaison disappears, heading in the direction of the cargo bay. They have precious few minutes before Salerno appears in their quarters, and Loki intends to use them soothing Thor's wounded ego. He turns back to him with a sigh, his fingertips reaching up to caress his bearded cheek. "Thor, if you would only—"

He turns his head before Loki can touch him. "Keep your words," Thor says. He sounds so tired, Loki feels the ache of it in his own chest. "I will not play this game with you."

"It is no game," Loki says. "If you knew me at all, you would understand." But he can say no more. The door slides open to admit Salerno, who toddles in amongst the broken odds and ends of their room. 

"Hello," the Hasseean says with unbecoming cheer. "I am sorry to bother you, especially right after the Nidhogg has attacked your ship, as I understand it. Will you be needing emergency supplies? I'm sure I can convince the committee to release some to you." 

"Thank you," Thor says, stiff and formal. "Asgard would welcome any aid you can give." 

"Nonsense. It's the least we can do for the heroes who will slay the beast for us." Salerno looks between the wane faces of Thor and Loki, neither of whom are able to look at each other. "You do still plan on slaying the beast, don't you?" Thor gives a weary nod. "Excellent. Then we will furnish any supplies you require. Now, the real reason for my coming: I've been sent to fetch you for the ceremony."

"What, now?" Loki stands straighter, eyes darting to Thor. Thor still doesn't deign to look at him. "So soon? I— We have had no time to prepare—" 

"Everything has already been arranged," Salerno says. "Usually a Hasseean wedding requires weeks and weeks of courtship rituals, but I've managed to secure a special dispensation in your case. You need only fulfill two of the items on this list before tomorrow morning, when the committee will gather to witness your public declarations." They produce a small electronic tablet from the pocket of their silver smock. Thor does not seem interested in the thing, so Loki is forced to take it. 

His eyes scan over the list. "Compose a ballad on the subject of your union? Create an enticing dance to perform for your beloved? Paint a lifelike portrait of your intended?" He pulls a face. Not his style, exactly, but if it will please the Hasseeans…. "All right, seems simple enough. We shall—"

"I'm not doing that," Thor says. He's leaning against the bulkhead with his head still down, arms crossed over his chest. 

Salerno blinks up at him. "Oh, there are many options to choose from. If you dislike the arts, you can do something else." 

Thor pins the Hasseean with a look. "I am not doing any of it." 

"But you must!" Salerno cries. "Please, without some small gesture from both parties, your wedding ceremony will be null and void in the eyes of our law. And if that happens, my reputation is forever sullied. Not to mention, our agreement will be invalid." 

"It is only a little task, my King," Loki murmurs. He places his hand lightly on Thor's elbow and is immediately rebuffed, Thor shaking off his touch as if he's nothing more than an annoying insect. Loki's glare is met with Thor's own. Why must his brother remain so stubborn? His voice goes cold. "May I remind you the wellbeing of our people depends on it?"

"Ah, yes, should I make some announcement to all aboard your ship?" Salerno asks. "To let them know the appointed time and place of the ceremony? I'm sure you'd like them to attend."

"No!" Thor and Loki answer in unison, then give each other more sour looks. 

"You need not go through the trouble," Thor says, looking out the window. 

Loki steps in to elaborate. "Our people have been through so much, what with the dragon's attack and the destruction of our home. It would be in poor taste to ask them to celebrate with us tomorrow." It's not entirely untrue. 

"I see." Salerno eyes them again, a frown of concern on their furred face. "I suppose a large audience isn't strictly necessary." They do not press any further, and Loki is glad of it. A new lie is the last thing they need at the moment. "Shall we go now? Hasseean law states you must spend the night before the wedding apart, so Mims and I have arranged separate dwellings for you to sleep, reflect, and prepare for the declarations." 

"Oh, really, there's no need for us to be separated." Loki gives a weak laugh and edges closer to Thor, tossing him pleading looks. They need to clear the air, get back on the same page. They can't do that if they're stuck in different dwellings. "You'll recall the King said he is practically my husband already."

"Careful," Thor says softly. "The Nidhogg might listen even now."

"It's no lie. You  _ did _ say that," Loki hisses between clenched teeth, then flashes Salerno a smile. "It would be rather silly to stick with every little tradition, wouldn't it?"

"I'm sorry, my friend, but the law is very clear. You two must be apart tonight." Salerno claps their hands. "But by this time tomorrow, you'll be bound together for life! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Delightful," Loki says, and nudges Thor with an elbow, but Thor only kicks a pile of clothing at his feet. 

"We may as well get on with it," he says. "Lead us, Sal." 

"Wait!" Loki looks frantically around the room. He cannot leave without that damned cube. "I need a few things for the ceremony. My jewels and silks. Let me find them." He begins to dig through the detritus, shifting through a dozen pieces of armor and leathers. Still no familiar blue glow to be seen. Could it really be gone?

"Are these your silks here?" Salerno asks cheerily, taking up a bundle of mint green fabric from behind a chair  and holding it aloft. 

"Ah, yes. Thank you, my friend," Loki says, taking them with feigned relief. "Now if only I could find my alchemist's ring—" 

"This might be it." Sal picks up the bauble from where it has been sitting by their boot. 

Loki takes it from him, squirming. "My, you're so...helpful." 

They leave the room. Loki looks over his shoulder as they go, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tesseract, but it's nowhere to be seen. After that, it's simply a matter of leaving  instructions with Heimdall for the care of the ship before they depart for the village. 

They're led first to the little lightbox they'd shared the last two nights, Salerno smiling the entire time. "Prince Loki will stay here," they say, "and the King will stay in a dwelling we've prepared on the other side of the river. Any materials you might need to complete your courtship tasks will be provided, and some have already been stockpiled inside. Will you require anything else?" 

"A bath," Loki says abruptly, and Salerno stares at him for a moment. "That is, a tub, if you can. It's an Asgardian custom, to bathe in steam before a wedding ceremony."

"You have never been one to follow customs," Thor says with ill humor, arms still crossed over his chest, looking for all the world like he's ready to snarl at the nearest unfortunate soul. 

Loki restrains himself from rolling his eyes. "Well, this is one I'd like to keep." 

"We will find vessels large enough for you," Salerno promises. "Now, if you would follow me, Your Highness, I will show you to your dwelling." 

"Please allow me to bid the Prince farewell first," Thor rumbles, and Loki's ears prick upward. It's a hopeful sign, Thor wanting to talk in private. 

Salerno, of course, does not understand the concept. "Go right ahead," they say. "There's no law against it."

"Alone," Thor says darkly, and Salerno's face crumples in fear. 

"Dear husband." Loki places a light hand on Thor's shoulder. "You're looming again." 

"No, no. My mistake. I'll leave you to it." Salerno backs away hurriedly, giving them a wide berth and waiting some distance away beneath a shady tree. 

Loki turns to Thor with a sigh. "You don't have to be so coarse."

"I don't care to hear any criticisms from you right now," Thor says. "I only wish to be clear: if you do not share my feelings, so be it. The Hasseeans will see us married so our agreement can survive. But if you lie tomorrow when you make your vows, you will bring death upon all our heads, so do not say you love me if it is not the truth." 

Loki's tongue is like a lead weight in his mouth, thick and useless. "Thor, the truth is complicated." 

"So you say." Thor runs a hand back and forth through his shorn hair. He must be to the end of his patience if that gesture is back. "I am sure you will concoct some clever words that won't mean much at all. That is what you do best, isn't it?" 

A twinge of pain blooms in Loki's chest. Why should these small barbs wound him so? He stands there, blinking. He will not cry; he refuses. "You're being unfair," he says. "I am not some unfeeling monster."

Thor leans closer and, likely for the sake of Salerno, who watches from afar, places a kiss on Loki's cheek. Before he pulls away, he whispers into his ear, "I've always known that, Loki. I wish you did too." 

Loki's thoughts scramble as he stares into Thor's stony face. Everything is slipping through his fingers;  at this rate, he will lose his place at Thor's side whether he keeps the truth hidden or not. He can't let that happen, not when he's so close. He'll beg if he has to. 

"Please," he whispers, "don't hate me for this." 

A warm hand, unexpected and pathetically welcome, brushes his jaw. A small sound escapes him, a gasp bitten in half. Thor smiles at him sadly. 

"I do not hate you," he says. "I am only sorry. For the both of us." 

His hand withdraws and he turns away, leaving Loki standing there alone and trembling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a lot of stuff. We're all going through a lot of stuff!! 
> 
> Hey y'all this one was really hard and I know it's a bummer so like, yeah. No excuses, just putting it out there.
> 
> NEXT time, for serious: time for a wedding.


	14. Chapter 14

Loki wakes up in his little lonely bed and pushes a handful of tangled hair from his eyes. A shaft of sunlight slices through the wispy curtains of the dwelling to assault his face. He squints into it and wishes death upon the Hasseean sun.

It's his wedding day. He needs to get ready, but all he wants is to burrow back under the light bedclothes and pretend nothing exists. Sleep had eluded him for the most part last night. Every time he'd closed his eyes, he'd seen Thor's face as it had looked yesterday when he'd walked away. A thousand different protests had played through Loki's mind and in each dream-argument, he and Thor spoke round and round in perfect circles.

One thing at a time, he tells himself. Get through this ceremony and perhaps then he can talk some sense into Thor. Imagine being so stubborn about such a small thing as saying a few words aloud in the proper order! They've overcome bigger problems together; Loki assures himself that this, too, will be managed in an agreeable fashion.

He heaves himself out of bed, clasping his sleeping robes closed at his chest, and takes stock of what he has to do. Salerno's helpful list of courtship gestures still sits on the table. Loki hasn't even chosen a task, let alone begun the work on it. Well, he can knock out a limerick or five in a quarter of an hour. He's not too concerned about that.

It's the antique basin that captures his attention. Salerno had delivered it late last night, assuring Loki that it had been scrubbed vigorously since its previous life as an animal trough. Its deep, wide metal body will be serviceable enough. Loki uses a hint of magic to fill it to the brim with steaming hot water. He wonders if Thor is readying a bath of his own right now, and how he will do it without Loki's magic to help him.

Well, Thor can drown in his tub for all Loki cares. The sting of their last conversation still grates on his nerves.

He glances around to see if there are many Hasseeans out and about to watch him perform his ablutions, but it is still early enough that the village is quiet. Shrugging out of his sleeping robes, he eases into the hot bath, sighing as the water gushes over the sides to make room for him. Yes, a modicum of relaxation is exactly what he needs in this trying time. He tips his head back against the hard lip of the tub, allows the steam to seep into his skin, and resolutely tries not to think of anything at all.

He wonders what Thor will be wearing to the ceremony. Likely just his armor. It would be difficult to find something to fit him at this late date, not to mention—

No. No thinking. He doesn't care. Let Thor appear naked if he wishes. It's no concern of Loki's.

Salerno had also left him a sort of volcanic stone to assist in his washing, and so Loki picks it up from its spot by the base of the tub and begins methodically scrubbing one arm, then the other. The grime of the last few days slakes off his skin, flecking the surface of the steaming water. He can't remember the last time he'd went so long without a proper bath. It's very pleasant, finally feeling clean, and yet Loki does not enjoy it as much as he'd hoped to.

After every inch of skin has been scrubbed pink, he climbs from the bath and calls forth a clean linen robe with his seidr. He wraps himself in it and thinks. His hair needs to be tamed, but the thought of battling it makes him cringe. The humidity of the planet has turned it from its usual raven silk to an absolute riot of waves. He sits on a low stool, barely large enough to fit him, and picks up a small hand mirror from the table to assess the damage.

Maybe he should just chop it all off to match Thor, he thinks with gloomy humor. But of course that would be entirely ridiculous, and so he picks up a little Hasseean comb wrought in silver and begins the work of untangling each strand. Once that is done, he looks into the mirror and considers his options. A small dozen-strand braid along the left side of his head will do nicely, he decides. Centuries ago, it would have been the fashion for a noble wedding and Loki imagines it will suit him well. He starts to separate strands with nimble fingers.

It's impossible to see what he's doing without someone to hold up the mirror for him, and of course there's no wall on which to hang the damn thing. He does the best he can by touch alone, but when he lifts the hand mirror to check his work, he finds the braid lies in a crooked, messy line against his head. Cursing, he unwinds the hair and starts again. Back in the golden age of Asgard's power, a noble preparing to be wed would be waited on by a dozen or more handmaidens. Loki tugs at his uncooperative hair and wishes he had just one.

He hears heavy boots on the wooden steps and turns in anticipation. The Valkyrie pushes aside the gauze curtains to let herself in.

"Oh!" Loki does not bother hiding his surprise. He'd envisioned a more classical handmaiden, but desperate times, etc. "Thank goodness you're here. I've been having the most difficult—"

Before she can hear about his coiffure problems, the Valkyrie strides across the dwelling, takes a small knife from her belt, grabs a good bit of Loki's hair, and cuts it loose with one swipe.

"Ouch! Careful! What do you think you're doing?" He clutches at his head. His sore scalp tingles.

"Obtaining a lock of your hair as His Majesty requested," she says, and stuffs the hair into a little bag on her belt.

"He— What?" Loki blinks. "Why?"

The Valkyrie shrugs, looking bored. "I didn't think to ask. I'm sure it's none of my business anyway." She turns to leave.

"Wait." Loki catches her wrist. "The King— How is he?"

She looks down on him with a hard look in her eyes. "How do you think? You're breaking his heart."

Loki's hand falls away from her. "He told you that?"

"Like I need to be told. I'm not an idiot." She shifts uncomfortably, looking toward the exit.

Thoughts race like horses through Loki's mind. So the Valkyrie knows—or at least suspects—about this thing between them. He prays she isn't the gossiping type. Thor must trust her, at any rate, if he's asking her to run such errands.

"Could you tell him I said…?" Loki licks his lips and thinks. An entire night spent turning over one breezy line and the next, and he still cannot think of the right thing to say.

"Tell him yourself at the ceremony. I'm not your messenger." The Valkyrie stalks toward the stairs. "I have to get back. Good luck with that hair, I guess," she calls over her shoulder.

Loki's hand flies up to feel the ragged tuft where Valkyrie's knife had made itself known. "You could have cut it from the underside!" he shouts at her as she leaves the hut. He sighs, lifting the mirror once more. He'll have to figure out some clever way to hide the unfortunate missing chunk. He sets to work once more, but frustration quickly overwhelms. Another half-done braid is ripped apart between Loki's fingers. He simply doesn't have the time to waste on any more mistakes, and with no one to help him, it all seems so impossible.

"Need a hand?" a familiar voice says much too close to his ear.

Loki jumps nearly a foot off the stool and whirls around to glare at the Grandmaster. "What are you doing here?"

The celestial madman spreads his hands wide, long sleeve brushing along the wooden floorboards. "Watching you screw up your hairdo beyond all reason. Come on, gimme." He flaps his fingers open and closed in the direction of the table and it takes Loki a moment to realize he's gesturing for the hand mirror.

"Are you being serious?" he asks.

"I'm extremely serious about hair, you know." The Grandmaster pats a hand along the side of his own perfectly styled head, a little pleased smile on his face. "Do you want help or not? Because I can go back to trying to snag canapes from those teddy bears. They make these little, uh, they're tiny fried balls stuffed with all these spicy things." He demonstrates the size of the food by cupping his hands around a small, invisible morsel. "I could be doing that instead."

Loki sighs and surveys his reflection once more. The Grandmaster is definitely not the sort of handmaiden he had pictured, but this is an emergency. He hands over the mirror.

"Try to hold it at an angle so I can see what I'm doing," he instructs.

The Grandmaster amazingly follows his orders to the letter. He stands a little to the side and behind Loki, holding the mirror and watching the progress of his braiding with a keen eye.

"See, you never told me you had these talents. You always wore your hair loose on Sakaar, or pulled back really simply. This is nice; you should wear it braided more often."

Loki frowns as he tries to concentrate on the delicate work of weaving the tiny strands into the main plait. "It's far too much work for everyday. I'm only doing this as it's a special occasion."

"Ah, right. Congratulations, by the way. Almost forgot to say that. Getting married! Big step. You nervous?"

This chummy line of questioning is beginning to set Loki's teeth on edge. He pauses in his braiding to turn on his stool and pierce the Grandmaster with a calculating look. "What are you after, En Dwi Gast?"

"Oh, okay, we're using full names now, huh? Prince Loki Whatever-Son?" He drops the mirror with a wounded look. "Can't a guy just do something nice for a former sidepiece without it being weird?"

Loki watches him closely. "I suppose it's possible."

The Grandmaster nods as if the matter is settled and holds up the mirror again, adjusting it until it's at just the right angle. Loki returns to braiding and even manages to work the sawed-off bit that the Valkyrie had left behind into the braid so the damage will go completely unnoticed. For a few moments of blessed silence, things are rather pleasant between them.

"So how long do you think those engine repairs will take, hm?"

And there it is. Loki drops his palms to his thighs with a hard slap. "You will not leave this planet on our ship," he says.

"Oh, come on! Why not?" The Grandmaster gives up all pretext of holding the mirror aloft, instead clenching it in his hand while putting his fists on his hips. "Technically it's _my_ ship. Plus I helped with that dragon, didn't I? And this, I'm helping here."

"One or two acts of goodwill do not erase eons of horrors." Loki stops, remembering something similar the Nidhogg had said to him the other day. He shakes his head to clear it. "At any rate, you are too volatile to be allowed aboard. Many of our alien allies have only recently escaped your cruel dictatorship. How do you think they'll react if they find a guest like you in the mess hall?"

"They wouldn't even notice me. I'll be as quiet as a mouse, look." The Grandmaster mimes taking a key and locking his lips shut and then, inexplicably, opens his mouth to swallow the imagined key.

Loki scrunches his entire face in confusion. "Must you be so bizarre?" He turns his attention back to his braid and finishes it with a small golden ornament that clasps cleverly at the end. "It's not me you should be asking, anyway; I'm merely an Advisor. You must plead your case with the King, although he will give the same answer. And with less civility, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I get the feeling he doesn't like me much." The Grandmaster looks genuinely confused at this, switching his lips from one side of his face to the other. "Can I ask you something? What is going on with you two?" He points two fingers in a V in Loki's direction and alternates waggling them up and down. "The whole, hm, semi-incestuous, quasi co-dependent, opposites attract thing? How's that working out?"

Loki opens his mouth to deliver a cutting rebuke. He really does. But he is sitting on the smallest, most uncomfortable footstool he's ever encountered, trapped on a planet so hot he's sweating through his linen robe, about to be married before a crowd of strangers to a man who's not very pleased with him, and he has not a single friend in the universe. He is so alone that he's actually considering the Grandmaster as a potential confidant. He closes his mouth and looks away, red-faced with shame.

"Hey, hey, hey." The Grandmaster nearly places a hand on his shoulder, his palm practically floating an inch above the linen cloth. "Forget I asked. I'm not here to antagonize, all right? Turning over a new leaf, that's me. I'm sure your wedding is going to be great."

"It's going to be a disaster," Loki says. He swallows and tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear, on the side that hangs loose. "Thor can barely stand to look at me. We had a terrible row yesterday and I fear he—" He bites his tongue before he can let slip all of his secrets. This lunatic was his enemy not so long ago, after all.

The Grandmaster plucks another miniscule footstool from its spot in a corner and drags it next to Loki's. He balances carefully atop it and clasps his hands in his lap. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm persona non grata here, remember? Who am I going to tell? Topaz? Like she'd even listen."

That much seems true. Loki hesitates but in the end he gives in with a sigh. "I've been a great disappointment to Thor," he says. He picks at a stray thread on his robe's belt. "The fool actually loves me. Isn't that awful? And he had hoped I would love him in return but I—" Loki chews on the words before spitting them out. "That's not the way I was built, you see."

"Right. You're ruthless. Cold. Calculating. A bit of a snob." The Grandmaster nods with each word. "Can't love Thunder Lord. Not at all."

Loki's eyes narrow. "I am not a snob."

The Grandmaster puffs out his cheeks but doesn't pursue the argument.

Loki thinks, then says, "And it's not that I don't love Thor. I do. Though not the way he loves me." He rearranges the folds of his robe over his legs, suddenly conscious of his pale, bare feet. "There's a lot of history between us. A lot of pain. I caused most of it, admittedly. It's in my nature."

"I'm not following," the Grandmaster says. He makes an L out of his finger and thumb, then places his chin in the crook of it. "It sounds like you love each other. So what's the problem?"

"Aren't you listening? I love Thor, but I also—" Oh, but it's difficult to say aloud. "At times, I also hate him."

His audience seems unmoved. "Uh huh. And?"  

"What do you mean, _and?_  And that is not— It's not how love is supposed to work!" Loki gestures around them as if the thick, warm air itself is permeated with love and kindness and weakness. "You cannot love someone but also be jealous of them, or think them so hopeless, or sometimes seethe at the sight of them. Thor was the first thing I ever cared about besides myself; for a very long time, the only thing." He thinks of their girls and is wreathed in the shame of so late a realization, that he could care for others. "But he's also the only one who can anger me to the point of frenzy. That's not love, really. It's something else, something sick."

The Grandmaster removes his hand from his face and positions it in the air, fingers unfurling like a flower. "Eh," is all he says.

"You don't agree, I suppose?" Loki turns back to his hand mirror, feigning interest in a few loose strands of his hair. "Why am I not surprised. A creature such as you probably has little use for the more difficult emotions."

"Listen, I've been around for a long time," the Grandmaster says. "You want to talk about emotions? I've seen them all. Experienced quite a few. Sure, for the last couple millennia I may have leaned more toward the whole hedonism thing rather than taking a philosophical approach, but that doesn't mean I've never done any deep thinking."

"Please spare me your so-called insights," Loki says. He pulls a lock of hair from behind his ear to see how it frames his face, then tucks it away again.

"Fine. Tell me to take a hike. Wallow away in your, uh, misery there." He points all around Loki's head as if he assumes, not incorrectly, that his hair is the source of much of said misery. "But let me tell you something: Thor hates you too, sometimes."

Loki turns to stare at him, eyes wide in surprise. Finally he finds his voice. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

That earns him a crooked smile. "Seriously. Just look at the way you two can rile each other up. Probably learned it as kids, which, wow, kind of weird. But it makes sense," he says. "You know, I have a brother. We used to be very close. Not like, uh, you two but." He pulls a face. "Still pretty close. Then we got into this big fight over— Damn, what was that even about?" He puts a hand to his cheek. "I can't remember. It was so long ago. We parted ways and I ended up lost on Sakaar. Looking back, sure, I have regrets. Maybe we could all stand to be a little more forgiving when it comes to the people we care about; I don't know."

Loki cocks his head to the side. He's not really interested in the celestial's biography. "You were saying? About Thor's feelings?"

The Grandmaster shrugs himself out of his dreamlike stupor. "Right. I'm sure Thunder Lord is a good guy. Heroic type, right? But he's not perfect, not by a long shot."

"True," Loki muses. "He can be vain. Arrogant. Stubborn. Oh, can he be stubborn. Not to mention his tendency to rush in when—"

"Okay, all right." The Grandmaster puts up his hand and pats away Loki's words with a strained grin. "I don't really care. What I'm trying to say is, if he's not perfect, why do you have to be?"

Loki thinks about this for a moment. He hates to admit it, but the Grandmaster is actually speaking somewhat sensibly. "Still," he says, "it's a risk to tell Thor my true feelings. He might— Might leave me."

"When we were on Sakaar, you never shied away from my games of chance. Besides." The Grandmaster arches one eyebrow. "Don't you think he'd take messy love over no love any day of the week? Your odds seem pretty good."

Loki's lips part, but no dispute appears on his tongue. "This is very unlike you, En Dwi. Why are you being so kind to me now? You know I won't help you escape this planet, don't you?"

"Well, you might change your mind." The Grandmaster leans back on his little stool and spreads his hands. "Everything changes, you know, if you wait long enough. Including me." He claps his hands together and rubs them vigorously. "Now let's get to the fun stuff. What are you wearing for the ceremony?"

Loki allows a small smile to grow on his lips for the first time in what feels like forever. The Grandmaster had always shown such a fondness for his sartorial selections. "I'm not sure. I haven't put much thought into it."

"You're kidding. Didn't you ever dream about what your wedding would be like when you were a tiny little God?" He waves a hand at Loki's form.

"For your information, no, I didn't." Loki thinks about his childish dreams of marrying Thor only to be devastated to learn that brothers weren't supposed to marry each other. "You could say I decided I wasn't the marrying kind," he says, softer.

"Okay, well, chop chop." The Grandmaster makes a knife with his hand and smashes it against his open palm. "Today, you are definitely the marrying kind. So what'll it be? Start with the basics. Are you going in this body?"

Loki shakes his head. "I— I really don't know."

"You haven't even picked out a gender for your big day!?" The Grandmaster stands, aghast. "This is much more concerning than your weird emotional hang-ups. Come on, let's get this ball rolling!"

"I suppose my lady shape is a bit predictable for a wedding," Loki says. "That won't do. I'll keep this one, I think."

"Great. I assume you won't be wearing white?" A glare does nothing to silence him. "It would wash you out anyway. How about magenta? Or electric blue?"

Loki purses his lips. He should make it clear through his choice of raiment that he's taking the ceremony very seriously. "I should practice some restraint today. Nothing too flashy."

"Bo-ring," the Grandmaster sing-songs.

"Please be quiet." Loki closes his eyes and concentrates on the clothing in his mind's eye: something substantial, elegant, in his colors of green and gold with perhaps a small nod to Thor's trademark crimson. His seidr pulses like a warm breeze moving through him, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself holding a suit of rich brocade with a long surcoat, cut on the bias with a high collar and gathered cape. A small rune is embossed in red on one shoulder, the stylized hanging hammer that has served as Thor's symbol for centuries. It's perfect.

"Can I make a suggestion?" the Grandmaster asks, holding up one finger.

"I wish you wouldn't." Loki holds the raiment to his chest to check the fit, which of course is impeccable.

"Couldn't you show some leg? Go topless? Something."

"It's a wedding, not an orgy," Loki says.

"On Sakaar, they weren't mutually exclusive." The Grandmaster waggles his eyebrows. "But really, do you want your husband-to-be to see you covered up from head to toe? You're supposed to be opening up here." He makes a poetic gesture that looks like he's plucking fruit from his chest. "Your outfit should say, 'I'm exposing myself, freeing my inner being, I'm all vulnerable.' Right now it says, 'Don't touch the merchandise.'"

Loki frowns down at his previously perfect suit of clothes. He's always dressed fairly modestly, usually choosing to keep his arms and shoulders covered, his neck protected from sight, just out of habit. Maybe the Grandmaster's idea has some merit. He closes his eyes once more and works his magic. When he's finished, the neckline has been lowered quite dramatically. His throat and collarbones will be shown to great effect.

"There," he says with a happy sigh. "I think that will do nicely."

"Still think you should go topless," the Grandmaster grumbles. "But this is fine too, I guess."

Now all that's left for Loki is to get dressed, create his courtship item, and— Figure out what he's going to say in his public declaration. He chews on his thumbnail. This will take some thought.

"Thank you, En Dwi," he finally says. "You have been unexpectedly useful."

"Oh, my pleasure." The Grandmaster steps closer and runs a fingertip across the fine brocade of the clothes in Loki's arms. "Don't I get to see what you look like in this?"

"You'll have to wait for the ceremony like everyone else, I'm afraid." Loki waves a hand toward the stairs. "If you would please leave me now, I need to prepare myself."

"You sure?" The dangerous grin widens. "Can I interest you in, uh, one last wild ride before you're officially off the market? For old time's sake?" He thrusts his hips into the air a few times just in case his meaning isn't clear.

"You're absolutely disgusting," Loki says with warmth. He reaches up and pats the Grandmaster on the cheek. "Go on. Let me dress."

"Suit yourself, Prince of Wherever." The Grandmaster takes Loki's hand from his face and presses the back of it to his lips. "And honestly, congratulations. Knock 'em dead."

"I usually do." Loki gives him a small smile as he takes his leave.

Once he's alone, Loki stands and paces the length of the dwelling, considering what he must say and how he must say it. It's all so complicated in his mind. If only he could do what the warriors of old did when wooing their brides-to-be, things would be much easier. He could just deliver a twelve-point stag to Thor's doorstep and have that be the end of his demonstration. Of course, the world has changed and Loki cannot do what was done in ancient times.

Can he?

He thinks about this a little more before rushing to where his clothes from yesterday sit in a rumpled heap at the foot of the bed. After some digging, he locates his boot and within it, his dagger, still caked in dried, black dragon's blood. He takes it to the cooling bath and washes it carefully until the blood is gone, then buffs it dry with the hem of his robe. It's a very small dagger and alien in its construction, but it's finely made and, most importantly, all he has.

Loki sits with the dagger in his lap and considers it with all his attention. Yes, he decides. It will be his courtship gesture and his marriage vow all in one. He lifts his hand and, with a murmur of magic, watches as runes appear etched in the blade, a string of glowing, golden words.

Then it's a simple matter of dressing in his new wedding clothes and making a few last-minute adjustments: a little kohl around his eyes, his ring heavy on his left hand, a hint of scent at the bare hollow of his throat.

"Are you ready, Prince Loki?"

He turns to find Salerno waiting at the steps, holding aside the curtain for him.

"Yes, my friend," he says, and places the dagger carefully in the folds of his emerald cloak. "Please show me the way."

They walk through the village, passing Hasseeans on their daily business with all manner of bundles. Salerno seems eager to reach their destination, their little feet scampering so fast, Loki must almost trot to keep up even with his longer legs.

"Your ceremony will be an abbreviated version, as I've said before," Sal says as they walk. "Only the committee members and a few of our more curious citizens will be in attendance. You've prepared your one gesture, correct?"

"I have." The dagger feels warm against his side. He touches it through his cloak.

"Good. When we get to the ceremonial clearing, you'll enter from the east and Thor, from the west. The idea is to have you two meet in the middle at the same time. A symbol of equity, very important in Hasseean custom. Try to match your stride to your spouse's so one doesn't arrive at the center of the platform first."

"Match Thor's stride." Loki nods. "I understand." He's sweating more than a little now and it's not just the powerful Hassee sun that's the cause. It's a strange sensation, being nervous. Loki doesn't like it much. It feels like his stomach is attempting to make a break for it.

"The King is the older of the two of you, I'm told? So Thor will go first. There will be a presentation of the courtship gesture followed by the public declaration, and then you will do the same. That's it. Easy enough, isn't it?"

"And Thor has been told of the order of events?"

"Oh yes. My spouse, Mims, is explaining all to your beloved even as we speak. They should be on their way to the meeting place right now."

Loki's heart begins to pound. This is it.

"Are you all right?" Salerno asks, touching his elbow lightly. "You've gone all pale again. Do you need some wine?"

"No," Loki says, too quickly. The last thing he needs is to lose his head, his nerve, and perhaps his breakfast. "No, thank you. It's silly; I know there's no need to be anxious. Like you said, it will just be a small ceremony with the committee and a few…other…." His words trail off as he crests a hill and sees the size of the gathering in the field below.

There must be at least a hundred Hasseeans all seated on cushions in neat rows before a low platform. Platters of food are being passed from one to another, a lone drummer is playing a raucous beat, and the whole place has a carnival atmosphere. Loki goes from sweating to cold all over in an eyeblink. Is he really going to do this in front of all these people?

"Pumi! Over here!" a little voice calls above the sounds of the gathering. Loki turns just in time to catch Thorunn and Droplaug as they barrel into his arms, chattering nonstop.

"You look amazing! Did you create these clothes out of ether?"

"Heimdall said we could come this time! Don't be angry with us."

"We didn't want to miss it. Mims said they'd let us sit in the back as long as we behaved."

He presses kisses to the tops of their heads. "Darlings, you have no idea how happy I am to see you," he says. It stings a bit to think they are the only family he'll have at his wedding—barring Thor, of course—but he didn't think he'd even be this lucky. It's good to remember what he's striving to protect, he thinks as he hugs them close.

Thorunn stands on tiptoe and cups a hand around Loki's ear to whisper, "Is this all still just pretend, Pumi?" She blinks over at Salerno while awaiting his answer, but the Hasseean is preoccupied with speaking to someone else about last-minute preparations.

Loki touches her cheek and straightens her frock coat. "Not this time, precious," he says with a watery smile. "Although much will depend on what the King has to say about that."

The girls seem to think about this before nodding with a solemnity that belies their years.

"We will be cheering for you," says Droplaug, "no matter what happens."

"But very quietly," Thorunn adds. "We're too well-behaved to be loud."

The corners of his mouth lift despite his nervousness. His girls—their girls—are too wonderful to believe.  

"Prince Loki?" Salerno gestures him forward. "It's time."

Loki nods and gives the children one final embrace. "Find yourselves a seat, my darlings. I love you." He watches them race off to the back of the crowd and is surprised to catch sight of the Valkyrie and the Grandmaster there already, towering over the short Hasseeans around them. The Valkyrie even gives him a little wave.

Right, then. Family, friends—of a sort—plus a multitude of guests. It's not such a bad wedding so far. Loki takes a deep breath. "Now?" he asks Salerno.

"Yes, yes. Go straight ahead." Furry paws give him a slight push and then he is moving, craning his neck to try and catch his first glimpse of his husband-to-be.

The musician stops playing and the crowd settles from a roar of overlapping conversation to a respectful murmur. It's quiet enough that Loki can hear his blood rushing in his ears, or so he imagines. It's not so different from the polite silence he's witnessed at public hangings. The thought makes his stomach flip over twice.

He wishes he'd thought to have something to hold as he walks to the platform. Not flowers perhaps, but something to keep his hands busy. As it is he can only clasp them together in front of him in what he hopes is a pious-looking gesture. Then he remembers he is supposed to be walking with the same gait as Thor and he looks up wildly to check his progress.

In an instant, Loki forgets about his gait in favor of drinking in the sight of Thor dressed in his wedding finery. He's about a hundred yards away still with the low platform between them. In his hands he carries a covered basket, but that is not what captures Loki's eye. Where in the Nine he had found a traditional Asgardian ceremonial robe, richly embroidered in red and gold, Loki cannot imagine. It fits him a little tightly, and must have been tighter still to begin with because the sleeves have been cut from the garment to accommodate Thor's arms, which are bare save for a glint of gold around one bicep. Loki squints at it, wondering if—? Yes, it is a snake curled into a band on Thor's arm. Is he really wearing one of Loki's emblems?

His gaze jumps to Thor's face, but he can find no clue as to the jewelry's meaning there. Thor's eyepatch glitters in the sun as he turns his head to acknowledge the crowd with a regal nod. His entire visage is impassive like cold mountain stone. When he does turn to look at Loki, nothing sparks in his eye. He remains untouchable, like an ancient King in an old story, not quite real and certainly not of this world.

Loki fights the urge to disappear in a flash of his seidr. How can he melt this Thor, who walks forward as if he is meeting Loki on the battlefield instead of the marriage altar?

Then he sees Thor's left wrist and the thing wrapped around it: a thin loop of black hair, twisted into a twelve-strand plait. It's the traditional wedding braid that Loki must have practiced on Thor's golden locks a thousand times when they were children, the same braid Loki is wearing in his own hair. He stops in his tracks and lifts a hand to his lips as a wave of tenderness washes through him.

"What are you doing? Don't stop," Salerno hisses from the sidelines, and Loki remembers himself. He quickens his pace to ensure he'll get to center of the platform as planned.

"Hello," he says to Thor as they meet in the middle. He's a little out a breath and he sounds it.

Thor says nothing to him, merely turns to address the crowd. "Good people of Hassee," he says as Loki's heart plummets. "I thank you for your generosity today. With this ceremony, your law will be observed and our alliance, cemented. In accordance with that law, I have brought a gesture of courtship." He hefts the basket, which is covered by a linen cloth, and hands it over to Loki.

Loki takes it and folds the cloth aside. A loaf of bread, brown and nutty and still warm, sits nestled in the basket. He looks up at Thor and says, "Did you really make this?" Too late he realizes how unflattering his tone might sound, but he can't help but be surprised. Thor has never shown any interest or talent in anything to do with an oven.

His question is ignored as Thor speaks to their audience again. "May this bread serve as a symbol for the nourishment I hope to provide as a King and as a husband." His single eye focuses on Loki at last, and Loki feels all of two inches tall.

"Thank you," he manages to say. He nods to the loaf of bread in his hands. "It's, well, it's very nice." This is quite awkward. Is he supposed to hold the bread for the rest of the ceremony?

From the front of the stage, Salerno gestures frantically. They mime stuffing something into their mouth and chewing.

"Oh! I'm to— Apologies, I didn't realize." Loki hurriedly tears a hunk from the loaf and pops it into his mouth. He half expects the bread to be salted to the point of inedibility given Thor's foul mood, but in truth it tastes quite good. A bit close-textured, but hearty and delicious all the same. Very impressive considering Thor's never cooked in his life as far as Loki knows.

He finishes chewing and swallows. "Thor, it's wonderful," he says. He means it. He desperately hopes Thor can hear it in his voice.

But Thor looks away and doesn't even meet his eyes.

Loki stares down at the remaining bread. Is he meant to eat the whole thing? His throat is so dry and tight, he's not sure he can manage it. Mercifully Salerno motions for Loki to hand the thing to them, and he does with swiftness, stooping at the edge of the stage to give it over. He brushes invisible lint from his clothes as he stands upright. He wishes he could hold the bread awhile longer if only to have something to do with his hands.

"Now I will publicly declare my vow," Thor tells the assembly.

Loki stands straighter and waits with a racing heart. Thor clasps his hands before him and bows his head as if in prayer. When he speaks, it is so softly, the Hasseeans in the back of the crowd lean forward to better hear. The words are formal, traditional, the same words spoken at nearly every wedding in the old Great Hall of Asgard. Loki recognizes them from a thousand plays and poems.

"I swear to honor you in all ways and seek never to break that honor. I swear to share my victories with you and defend you from our enemies. I swear to shoulder your burdens and ease your pains. I swear to tend to your happiness, for it is now my own. I swear to love—" He stops as his voice cracks on the word, and he looks up at the sky, his eye blinking and full of tears.

A few of the Hasseean elders in the front row smile and coo at the naked emotion on display. Only Loki, who knows Thor so well, can see that it's not overwhelming joy that is making him weep. It's deep, cutting sadness.

"Thor." It's a whisper, the only support he can give here in front of all these people.

If Thor hears his name he gives no sign. He takes a steadying breath and continues with his vows. "I swear to love you and keep you housed in my heart. In this life and the next, when we meet again in Valhalla. This is my oath to you, Loki, Prince of Asgard."

The faces of the audience turn to Loki, awaiting his response. Loki swallows around the growing lump in his throat. If only he could speak to Thor alone for just a moment. But he must speak before this crowd, and so he does.

"There is an old tradition on Asgard," he says, "or at least, there used to be." His voice is loud. It carries over the heads of the Hasseeans, flowing like insistent, inevitable water. "Many centuries ago, a warrior on the cusp of marriage would descend into the tombs of their ancestors and take from that sacred place a weapon. One of the swords, perhaps, that a fabled and noble great-grandparent had been buried with. The warrior would take that blade and etch their wedding vows upon it so that their beloved could hold it in their hands. Proof of history, of honor. Of love." Loki inclines his head. "But the tombs of Asgard are gone now, and so I have improvised."

He removes the dagger from his cloak, holding it aloft to shine in the sunlight. A few members of the audience crane their necks to better see it. "This is my gesture. It's not as large as an ancient broadsword," Loki says, "so I was forced to keep my vow short. Perhaps that is for the best; a thousand blades would not give me enough space to write all that I feel. For the longest time, I thought I was not worthy enough to be so bold. Now I know that what I feel, though not without its flaws, is nevertheless the truth. That is what matters here." His eyes dart to Thor, who looks warily intrigued despite himself and his misery. "I will read it to you now."

The dagger's metal is cool against the palm of his hand as it lays there. Loki traces the etchings upon it with his eyes, saying the words in his mind, hoping they sound right on his tongue.  

He speaks: "'I, Loki of Asgard, do swear upon this blade my marriage vow to Thor Odinson, rightful King of Asgard, whom I have loved since before I could speak the word, whom I will love until my final breath. When all else is dust, let this truth stand: that he is mine to cherish and protect. This is my oath.'"

He lifts his eyes from the blade. The attentions of the crowd weigh heavily on him, but he can look only at Thor, who is staring into him, lips parted, eye wet and red. Loki holds the dagger out to him but Thor does not move. Loki thinks of another time he stood before Thor with a dagger in his hand, tears on both their faces and too many emotions boiling between them. But that had been atop a high tower without any witnesses, and the dagger had ended up buried between Thor's ribs.

Loki hopes things will be different this time.

"Take it," he whispers, "please."

Thor seems to jolt from a dream, blinking at the blade on offer. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around its hilt. His face is close enough to Loki's to make out every fine line at the corner of his eye, every wisp of scar tissue along the edge of his eyepatch.

"Do you mean it? Truly?" Thor asks, so quiet that the audience shifts and murmurs, complaining that they cannot hear.

Loki feels a tear fall from his eye and drip off his chin. "Yes," he says. "And I hate myself for making you ever doubt it."

Thor's face settles into something knowing and beautiful. He takes the dagger and secures it in his finely wrought belt. "Come here, love," he says. His hands frame Loki's face at the same moment that Loki places his shaking hands on Thor's jaw, and they are kissing through their tears, deeply and without hesitation.

Loki is distantly aware of some smattering of applause before he feels the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He can smell ether on Thor's skin and sense the sudden coolness of the sun disappearing behind a cloud. Oh, his clever husband. He smiles into the kiss even as the bolt of lightning cracks into the earth behind their little platform, the blinding flash and deafening boom causing their audience to cry out in fright. Loki does not startle, but kisses Thor deeper before finally pulling away with a little quirk to his lips.

"That was rather dramatic, even for you," he says.

Thor grins like a naughty child who doesn't much care that he's been caught. "I knew you would appreciate it."

The crowd seems to enjoy it as well, if their renewed applause is any indication. Loki knows he should wave to them or at least thank their well-wishers, but he can't seem to stop himself from kissing Thor again.

"We should join the celebration," Thor says against his mouth when at last they part. "It's for us, after all."

"If we must." Loki slips his hand into Thor's, his heart hammering as they turn to the cheering crowd and together descend from the platform into the whirl of bodies.

There are very formal congratulations from the Hasseeans to accept, which they do with as much gravity as possible given their shared giddiness. Thor keeps squeezing Loki's hand and grinning at him like they share a secret. There is food and wine to be had, of course, but they do not have much interest in anything but each other. The Valkyrie finds them at some point and slaps both of them on the back; Thor lets go of Loki's hand long enough to wrap her up in a bear hug. Then the children descend on them, squealing, and Thor scoops them up, one in each of his strong arms.

"There's our girls," he says, and Loki is sure his heart will burst with all that fills it. He watches as Thor busses a kiss against Droplaug's cheek, then Thorunn's. They giggle at the scratch of his beard. "Did you stay on your best behavior for Mims?" he asks.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Thorunn says.

"Yes, Father," Droplaug says at the same time.

"Oh!" Thorunn looks at Loki with perfectly round eyes, blinking her long lashes. "Pumi, are we to call the King our Father now?"

Droplaug flushes a deep scarlet. "I'm sorry, my King, I only thought—"

Thor jiggles her in his arm and smiles. "It's all right, little Droplet. I would be honored to be a Father to you and your sister." He meets Loki's eyes over their heads. "That is, if you think it's a good idea, love."

Loki takes a step forward so he can mold himself to Thor's side and hide his too-happy smile against his bare shoulder. When he has composed himself enough, he looks up at his strange, small family and says, "I can think of none better."

They allow the girls one celebratory sip of wine apiece before sending them to bed in the care of the Valkyrie, who snags herself a couple of bottles on the way out, saluting as she goes. Though the sun is setting, the feast seems to be just beginning. The drummer strikes up again and a dance is organized. Loki is just recovering from the whirl of it when the Grandmaster appears at his side, flashing a thumbs up.

"The outfit came together after all," he says. "You look amazing as always."

"You're too kind, En Dwi." Loki pats a hand against Thor's bare arm even as he feels the tension flowing through his husband at the Grandmaster's appearance. "Thor, you'll never guess who played handmaiden to me during my wedding preparations."

"Really." Thor's remaining eye narrows.

"No need for jealousy." The Grandmaster fiddles with the collar of his golden robe, plucking at it again and again. "Just wanted to extend my heartfelt congratulations."

"You're not stepping foot on my ship," Thor says pleasantly.

"Okay! Well, great wedding. See you two lovebirds later." He disappears as quickly as he came.

"You really let that creature attend to you?" Thor asks, watching the Grandmaster's hasty retreat.

"Yes. And he was right: honestly, there is no need to be jealous." He uses his fingertips to guide Thor's chin back in his direction and kisses him soundly. "I've only ever loved one man, and I am now lucky enough to be married to him. Why would I seek any other?"

Thor seems enamored with his lips, for he doesn't take his gaze from them. His big hands find a home on Loki's hips, drawing him closer. "I could hear it for a thousand years," he breathes. "Tell me again?"

"Tell you what? That I love you?" That wins Loki a kiss, and so he says it again against Thor's neck. "I love you. So very much."

"How fortunate for the both of us." Thor's hands wander along the seams of Loki's surcoat. Even though they are standing in a sea of other people with light and music and shouting all around them, they may as well be in the middle of the blackness of space, alone and pressed against each other. Loki can feel the heat of Thor's need against his own awakening cock. It's a heady experience, and Loki has never been suited to restraint.

"I need you to take me," Loki says into Thor's ear.

"What, here?" Thor looks surprised but ultimately game to figure out a way. He looks at a low table nearby as if gauging its suitability as a shield or perhaps a sturdy surface.

Loki laughs and kisses his throat. "No, you fool. Hasseean customs haven't rubbed off on me that much. Let's find somewhere private."

"Do you think we can leave without offending anyone?" Thor asks.

Loki looks about at the raucous feast, which appears to be ready to rage on for many more hours. "I don't think anyone will notice." He takes a step back and tugs on Thor's hand. "Come. I want to give you a proper wedding night."

Thor's eye sparkles. "If I tear your fine clothes, you must promise not to be too cross with me," he says as he allows himself to be led.

They slip away deep into the forest hand in hand, laughing and clinging as they plunge into the warm darkness.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These fuckers are finally married. 
> 
> Next time: a wedding night! 
> 
> Please comment, share, [reblog](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/171815655132/vows-from-a-dagger-chapter-14-archive) if the spirit moves you.


	15. Chapter 15

The sounds of the wedding feast fade away as Loki leads Thor by the hand into the woods. It's dark here among the scrub plants and scratchy weeds, so Loki uses a small illumination spell to light their way. He looks back over his shoulder to admire Thor's smiling face bathed in the warm glow of it, the crinkles at the corner of his eye standing out in stark relief.

"How much farther must we go?" Thor asks. His free hand snakes around Loki's waist and paws at the catches of his wedding clothes.

"Far enough that we won't be interrupted." Loki turns to give Thor a kiss as a reward for his hoped-for patience, though the kiss lengthens into four or five more. When Loki finally breaks free, he says, "We'll get nowhere at this rate."

"Then stop pausing to kiss me," Thor murmurs even as he lowers his mouth to Loki's one more time.

Loki grins as Thor walks him backwards until he is crowded up against a spindly pine. "At least wait until we're in a large enough clearing that I might lay down," he says.

"Or I could take you standing against this very tree." The look in Thor's eye is so playful, so pleased with himself and the world at large, that Loki struggles to remember when his brother-husband last looked so carefree. They must have been very young.

"You're a brute." Loki kisses him deeply. "My own lovely brute," he whispers against Thor's lips when they part. It's difficult to conceal the slight tremor in his voice. It is still not used to saying such things.

His efforts are rewarded with Thor's hand in his hair, combing through the loose tresses on one side of his head before cupping his flushed cheek. "Your brute cannot help wanting you," he says, "but he loves you enough to wait. He's very practiced at waiting."

Loki covers Thor's hand with his own and closes his eyes. The years they lost because of Loki's own cowardice, the pain Thor must have felt thinking that Loki did not love him—it tears at his heart to imagine it. An apology forms on his tongue, stilted and unsure of where to even begin. "Thor, I'm—"

Thor cuts him off with a kiss. "You're here with me now. Let's not speak of regrets tonight." And with that he takes Loki by the hand and leads the way deeper into the forest.

They find a little clearing. It isn't much to look at; Hasseean fauna seems to tend toward the brown and scrubby, but at least it is not too damp. The rest, Loki can work with. He releases Thor's hand and takes a look around. An idea forms that he cannot resist.

"Close your eyes," he tells Thor. "I have a surprise for you."

"It's just the one eye now, remember?" Thor picks at his eyepatch.

"Then close it." Loki presses a quick kiss to Thor's bearded chin. "Don't open until I say so."

Thor looks like he might make an argument against further delays, but he relents with a small huff of breath and shuts his eye, arms crossed over his chest as he stands in the center of the clearing. "All right," he says, shrugging, "surprise me."

For a moment, Loki watches Thor standing there, trusting him. It's such a wondrous sight. Then he turns his seidr outward and uses it to dress the clearing until it's fit for their first night as a wedded pair. It will take a little concentration to maintain the illusion but Loki is determined to give this to Thor as a wedding present. He stands a few feet in front of Thor and checks one last time that every detail is as it should be.

"You can look now," he says, and then changes into another skin.

Thor opens his eye to see the clearing transformed. His lips part at the sight. Loki's magic has turned the Hasseean clearing into an Asgardian wood: lush grass carpets the ground; stately trees hem them in from all sides; a small creek burbles down a soft slope; a mountain peak rises in the hazy distance; night birds make their familiar calls through the twilight; and Loki, standing in her wedding clothes, watches him with bated breath.

"Well?" she asks.

"It's—" Thor spins to take in the entire view. "It's the place where— Our place. How did you manage—?"

Loki lets go of the breath she'd been holding. There had been a chance that Thor would not like the reminder, but she had felt the urge to recreate that moment in the woods of Asgard, when Thor has chased her until the sun went down and they'd joined together on the forest floor.

"I'm glad you like it," she says.

" _Like_ it? Love, it's amazing." Thor spins around in yet another circle as if he can't stop looking at the place he's found himself. "Everything is exactly as I remember. Even the breeze feels cooler! And the smell on the air." He closes his eye and takes a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice shakes. "I didn't realize how much I've missed it."

Loki tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes darting to the stream. She hadn't meant to overwhelm Thor in this manner. "It's just a pretty mirage," she says.

"No, Loki." He strides over to her and takes her hands in his. "This is everything. You've given me home." He kisses her, lingering over her lips. "I'm so sorry. I have no gift for you."

She rests her ringed hand against Thor's face. The words leave her before she can craft them into something less embarrassing. "You're my present tonight," she says, and then tucks her heated face to Thor's throat. "Oh, that's awful, isn't it? Don't ever tell anyone I uttered such drivel."

Thor laughs and the warm rumble of it almost makes the shame worthwhile. "I always knew there was a hidden sweetness inside of you." He lifts her chin to kiss her soundly. "Don't worry, my love. I will tell no one how tender you can be."

 _I can be tender?_ Loki thinks with a jolt. The idea had never really occurred to her. Then Thor's mouth seals over hers once again, and she closes her eyes and gives into the notion. Her arms wind around Thor's neck. _I can be tender, I can be tender._

Thor lays her down on a bed of clover, just as he'd done that night back in Asgard so long ago. She glances up into his face and sees a faraway look that means Thor is caught in the memory of their first time. Loki shifts uneasily at the thought of being compared to how she was in her youth; she is older now—they both are—and changed, and it will never be like that again no matter how hard she tries.

"Please don't think this is all some desperate bid to hold onto the past," she says, and looks over to a flowering vine that trembles in a chilled breeze. "I realize there's no going back to that time. We're not innocents anymore. In all senses of the word." Her eyes drop to the ground.

"True," Thor says as he works at the ladder of laces and latches on Loki's wedding garments. "But that is not to say that this moment cannot surpass that one." He pauses in his work to kiss the bare skin of Loki's throat and every new inch that is revealed. He murmurs into the valley of her breasts as he continues downward. "For one thing, we are not hiding now. You know who I am, and I know who you are, and that is a treasure I would never trade." He catches her hand before it can slide into his shorn hair and kisses the painted tips of her fingers. "For another thing, I now understand your different forms—and tonight I intend to see to them all."

"Really?" She smiles. "Perhaps I will invent some new ones just to test the limits of your virility."

"Please do," he says, and looks up at her from the pillow he's made of her belly. "Now tell me: how shall I pleasure you, my love?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that?" Loki slips her hand free and touches Thor's face as if seeking out an answer in it. "After all, you are my King. My husband." Her smile grows in its coyness as she settles back against the grass. "Don't you want me to service you like a devoted wife should?"

This draws a growl of arousal from Thor, and he presses even closer atop Loki, making a space for himself between her spread legs. "I think we both know you serve me best when you allow me to serve you." His cock, thick and insistent, rubs itself through their clothes against Loki's cunt. "Tell me what you need, love, and where you need it, and I will give it to you."

"Oh…." Loki catches Thor's mouth in a savage kiss, wet and panting. It would be easy to lose herself in the sensations of Thor's lips and his hot skin and his heavy body and the way he's pinning her to the ground, but Loki is still thinking three steps ahead. This shape first, she decides, for it will have more stamina. She'll be able to reach her peak several times, perhaps, before they move on to her Master's shape. And she does want Thor to have her, wants him everywhere, wants to be filled with his seed in every possible way.

She breaks the kiss long enough to gasp out, "Inside me. Please." She grabs Thor's hand and presses it insistently to the front of her breeches, where her cunt throbs and grows wet.

Thor delights in tearing each stitch of clothing from her, too impatient to keep undoing each button and catch. Loki shivers in the chill night air as she is disrobed. The sight of her bare skin against Thor, still dressed in his wedding finery, sets her blood afire.

"Inside you, eh?" Thor asks with a spark in his eye. "With my tongue? My fingers? What exactly?"

"Ridiculous fool, you know what I mean to have." She tries to lift her hips to grind against his cock but Thor has taken hold of them in his big hands, grinning down at her like he's never seen anything so amusing.

"You call your new husband a fool still? I was smart enough to catch you at last."

"Yes, smart enough to catch me, stupid enough to dither now that I'm caught." Loki bends a knee to kick her bare foot against Thor's backside. "Get on with it and fuck me!"

Thor tsks even as he unlaces his trousers with one hand. "Who knew that a Queen could be so foul-mouthed?"

"Who knew that a King would take so long in finding his c—" Loki hisses as the hot length of Thor's prick finally breaches her in a slow, steady thrust.

Thor presses his smile to Loki's shoulder. "A new way to keep you quiet."

Loki does not have the strength to snipe at him in return. Her body and her mind have been taken prisoner by this feeling. It's always been good with Thor, but this— It seems like they fit together tonight in a way that defies words. Like something has fallen into place, silently and without her noticing. Loki can't be sure, but when she looks up into Thor's face and sees the expression painted upon it, she thinks maybe it has something to do with the both of them finally knowing they are loved.

She clings to Thor's shoulders as he makes his thrusts within her. He is strong, controlled, so very controlled in his movements. How is he doing this when Loki feels she's about to break apart at any moment? Sounds are falling from her mouth, little choked-off cries that seem to urge Thor to bury himself deeper. She's fairly certain her eyes roll up into her head at one point.

A thick-fingered hand smooths over the braid in her hair, and she blinks up into Thor's eye, which holds such concern as she's sure she's never deserved. "Is it good?" he asks. "Is it all right?"

Loki is on the verge of tossing out some flip remark ("Never better, now _harder_.") but she cannot find her voice. There's too much flowing out of her and between the two of them. And this thought, Loki cannot escape: that she must be the most powerful thing in the universe if she can contain this mighty god, this perfect lover, her Thor. How strange that she would find such power here with him after all that time thirsting and fighting for it on her own.

"Loki?" Thor's hand is on her cheek now. It brings her back out of her head and flays her heart apart. He looks so lovely in the soft light, she could cry.

"I'm sorry," she gasps out. "It's all so—" But her throat closes and she just shakes her head, hair spilling on the ground.

"Oh, my Lady." Thor pulls her into his arms and together they rise up, she cradled in his lap, still impaled upon his cock, shaking against him. "Let it come. It's been building, hasn't it?" His big hands rest on her back and stroke her skin with a soothing rhythm.

 _I can be tender—for his sake_ , Loki thinks as she kisses him. A tear rolls down her hot face. Release. A floodgate opening. She works herself up and down on his cock, chasing her pleasure, wanting to feel his. She's losing herself but she doesn't care. Just a few days ago the thought of being consumed by Thor terrified her. Now, it's all she wants.

"Own me?" she whispers in Thor's ear as she fucks him. "Just a little?"

Thor does not answer in words, but lets his body speak for him. He manhandles her onto her back again, pressing her firmly into the soft grass. His hands become manacles at her wrists as he pins them beside her head. His cock, so hard within her, knows her entirely. Her noises are shameful: loud, harsh, desperate moans. She bites her lip to try to silence herself, but Thor nips at her mouth in admonishment.

"Let it come," he says again. "Let me hear you, love."

It doesn't suit Loki to follow such orders, even if she wants nothing more than to scream her pleasure for Thor ears. Instead she clenches her jaw and turns her head so the sight of Thor's face, gazing down at her with all the love in his heart, will not cause her to lose her mind. Then her eyes catch sight of the little braid that circles Thor's thick wrist, and she is unmoored all over again. Her breath comes out as a startled gasp as it did at their wedding.

Thor must see her staring at it, for he lifts his hand to better show the braid and, still pumping her full of his cock, says, "Even when I doubted you, I needed a piece of you with me."

"You will have the entirety if it pleases you," Loki says. Her legs twine around Thor's waist and her ankles lock at the small of his back. She can feel the muscles there flexing with each movement, but even that is not enough to deter her study of the thin, dainty bracelet on Thor's wrist. "I had no idea you could make a twelve-strand braid. How did you manage such delicate work with those hands of yours?"

"Well, I learned from watching you. As for my hands—" He reaches down and massages her swollen clit with deft fingertips, grinning at her surprised yelp. "I think they do all right for themselves."

"Arrogant prick." But Loki smiles as she says it.

Thor pulls a face that says he cannot argue with her assertion and doesn't care to try, too busy fucking her through her first peak. The series of small, stabbing pleasures makes Loki tighten all around Thor with her cunt and her limbs. She can barely hear his contented hum in her ear, so loud are her own groans of completion.

"Was that one or two?" Thor murmurs into her hair. "I'd like to keep a tally tonight." His cock is still pressing in and out of her, but slower now, like they're going on a leisurely stroll instead of a frenzied sprint.

"Let's call it one," Loki says with what little breath she can muster. She brushes a lock of hair from her fevered brow. "I barely felt it anyway." Then, quickly, because Thor is giving her a fearful look: "That was a joke. We both know it. A joke doesn't count as a lie, does it?"

They hold there in quivering silence for a moment, listening for the sound of leathery wings in the sky above. But nothing happens, and Thor gives a chuff of laughter.

"I suppose even dragons know how well I can bring you off!"

Loki slaps a hand against the hard muscle of his shoulder, grinning. She loves him and cannot stand to look at his self-satisfied face any longer, so she twists onto her side until he follows her meaning and helps her roll over onto her hands and knees. An easy, slick thrust and they are joined again as if never parted. She tosses her long dark hair over one shoulder as she looks back to watch him working away at her effortlessly, hands braced on the swell of her ass.

He catches her eye and smiles. "Is my lady feeling owned, just a little, by now?"

"Hm. Let's see…." Loki lowers herself to her elbows to rest her arms while she thinks. "I haven't been given a drop of your seed yet. That would go a long way towards ownership, don't you agree?"

"Just a drop?"

"Well, however much you can spare."

"Inside?" Thor thrusts harder, slower, as if she needs the clarification.

Loki bites down on the little whimper that elicits and lays the side of her head on the cool grass. "Yes, inside. I— I like how it feels." Her eyes drift closed as she lets herself be rocked by the force of Thor's hips.

"Do you?" Thor sounds dreamy, like he's lost in the slip of their bodies as well. Loki can feel his hands trailing along her ass, down her thighs, back up again to stroke her flanks up to the side of her breasts until Thor is blanketing her back. He fucks like a hound does, rutting, panting.

"Yes." Loki swallows. Her hips are rolling back into him, taking all he can give, while she sweats beneath him, a writhing thing. "Yes, fuck, Thor."

One of his strong arms winds underneath her, holding her tight against his body as they move together, and Loki grapples for a handhold. She finally clutches at his bicep. Her fingers find the cleverly wrought golden snake that he's wearing there. A strange thought bubbles inside her mind, making her laugh: what if she shifted into a snake this very moment and wrapped herself around his cock that way instead?

"Do you like it?" Thor flexes his arm where she touches it and the snake. "It reminded me of you."

"Such a sentimental fool," she whispers. She ducks her head to press a kiss to his hand, which is splayed across one of her breasts.

"That would make two of us, Loki." He kisses the nape of her bowed neck. "I saw my emblem on your shoulder today."

"All right. Perhaps I will allow a bit of sentiment." She presses back onto his cock in a way that makes him moan. "Only when it comes to you."

"How am I so very lucky?" Thor asks, then rises up on his knees behind her, resting his hands on her ass once more. The motions of his hips are absolutely hypnotic. "One concession deserves another."

"Are you close, then?" Loki looks back over her shoulder and sees an extremely worrisome look on Thor's face, far too devilish for her tastes.

"I am." The pounding picks up speed. "But I don't wish to spend before you tally at least two." And with that, he pops his thumb in his mouth and holds Loki's gaze while he sucks on it.

Loki squints at him. "What are you planning?"

Thor releases his thumb from his mouth with a loud slurp. "Just being efficient, my love," he says, and rubs his soaked thumb along her backside, down and up her crack, circling around her asshole.

"Oh—!" Loki's forehead falls to the ground as the slick thumb presses inside her. It's sinfully good, being filled by the cock in her cunt and the thumb in her ass. Better yet is Thor's outlandish control; he's still in check as he fucks her, gripping her ass with his free hand to hold her open.

"I thought I should ready you here, since I'll be fucking this hole of yours next," Thor says.

Loki's cunt flutters. "Y-you won't even give me time to rest before you switch?" Her entire upper body has collapsed to the ground now, her ass high in the air for Thor to play with.

"What can I say?" Thor presses his thumb deeper. "I'm a brute."

That gets Loki's tally up to two. Three if she's being honest, which, of course, she should be. Her fingernails dig into the ground as she comes, wailing into the sweet-smelling grass. She can hear Thor's battle cry, the one that means he's spilling hot and thick inside her shuddering body. His thumb slips free of her clenching ass and his fingers grip her hips. They slow together. Obscene sounds squish between them. Wet. Heated.

Loki lifts her eyes from the ground and realizes the illusion that surrounds them is flickering just like her thoughts. She looks back over her shoulder. Thor doesn't seem to notice, as his eye is squeezed shut, his chin tipped toward the dark sky, mouth open. A statue of the most fertile god Loki has ever seen.

"My love," Loki says in a strangled whisper, "please, as you promised."

Thor blinks down at her as if he can't understand a word she's said. "What?"

"No rest for me." She lifts herself up on her hands and knees once more in what she prays is an enticing pose. Her thoughts reform in some semblance of order, and so too does her mirage of Asgard. "Please, my love. I need you still."

Thor's cock flexes within her soaked cunt. How he's still hard, Loki does not know but is not about to complain. "I don't think you've ever called me your love before," he says softly.

"Well, you are, aren't you?" Loki looks back at him and catches the strangest look on his face. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Not at all." Thor gathers her close in his arms, pulling her back against his chest. Trickles of seed and her own slick run down the inside of her thighs as she moves, and she cranes her neck to try and see the result of their exertions. Such a lovely mess they've made. Thor combs the hair away from the back of her neck with his fingers and says, "I only hope to hear you say it a thousand more times."

Loki's lips quirk upward. Her voice is sugar syrup when she speaks. "I will say it a thousand times in the next hour, my love, if you'd just fuck my other hole as you said you would."

Thor laughs into the skin of her shoulder blade. For some reason, this feels like a triumph. Loki feels a warm pool forming in her stomach. She wants to be wrapped in that laugh and wear it like a cape. Although, speaking of clothes—

"And get rid of your robe and breeches. You're too pretty to not be naked," she admonishes. Her fingers pluck at the embroidered fabric of the robe's hem.

"As my love commands." Thor eases his cock from her, the both of them moaning at the rush of sticky fluid that follows it. His clothing rustles as his disrobes, and he tosses each piece to the ground without a care where it lands. The feel of their bare skin caressing when he returns to her is electric.

Loki does not even have time to catch her breath before Thor is pressing his cockhead against her ass. Norns, he's large. "I fear you'll need oil," he says.

"Must I do everything? Here." A quick spell and Loki is as slick there as her aching cunt. Not the most dignified way to use eons of magical skill, but then— Oh, but then Thor is inside her once more and who gives a fuck about dignity? Not Loki, not when her husband is pounding away at her ass with all the power and enthusiasm in his godly body.

He lifts her with ease and moves them both so they're laying on their sides, where he can touch her everywhere he likes. His hands are roving armies that claim each new land they find: the soft skin of her throat, her belly, the back of her knee. Finally Thor plunges two thick fingers into her wet cunt to keep her filled there as well, and she lets loose a loud sob.

"Yes, yes, that's good," she says, moving back against him. She chants his name and calls him her love over and over, perhaps two thousand times. Thor deserves it, is her feeling, what with the way his fingers work and his cock thrusts perfect and smooth within her. She cannot escape his touch. She'll never try. Her body shakes its way toward another peak, wringing it from her like water from a cloth.

Her hair, soaked in sweat, sticks to her neck, and she runs a hand through it to try and dislodge it. She touches the line of her braid to see if it's coming undone, but it seems to be holding fairly well. At least something is.

"Four," she pants. "If you're still keeping track."

A chuckle rumbles in her ear. Thor's scratchy beard brushes at her now exposed throat. "Have I mentioned that I love you?" he says.

Loki blinks back at him. "Because I can come off four times in quick succession? Thor, your standards are very low."

"No, not because of that, although I do like seeing you take your pleasure." He maneuvers them until Loki's on her hands and knees again with Thor behind her. "But because you make me laugh. I never smile as much as when I'm with you and you're saying something outrageous and clever."

Loki isn't sure what to do with this sort of praise. She's relieved that Thor can't see her red face in this position.

"I'm glad someone finds me amusing," she says in what she hopes is an off-hand way. She wiggles her ass against him as a distraction. "Come on, don't stop now."

"Loki." Thor places his palm on the small of her back, arresting her movements. "Do not diminish what I am trying to say. You bring me happiness, my love."

Loki tucks an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. "I am also happiest when I am with you," she says quietly, then shakes her head with a little huff. "I'm sorry, I'm still learning how to say such things. And to hear them said to me." She thinks of how much grief she has given Thor and, if placed on a scale alongside the joy, how it could possibly balance out in their favor. She doesn't understand it.

"No apologies," Thor says, leaning down to kiss her bare back. "Now, would you like a fifth?" His cock gives a shallow thrust within her.

She smiles and discreetly wipes at her eyes before answering. "If it's not too much trouble." That earns her another laugh, and then they are moving together once more. She places a hand between her legs to touch her plush, well-used quim. It's sore from all the work it's done. Time for a change, she decides, and with Thor still deep inside, shifts into another shape.

"Oh, fuck." Thor stutters in his movements to let loose his curses to the sky.

Loki is similarly affected; his body is like new now, tight as a fist and hard as a stone. "Perhaps I didn't think that through," he gasps out, trying to adjust to the cock in his slickened ass. Taking that much of Thor in what feels like all at once is just shy of too painful.

Those big hands turn gentle on Loki's hips, stroking to soothe instead of excite. "Should I stop?"

"No, no. Just...give me a moment."

"Of course." Thor takes his hands away and leans back just a bit so that the only part of him touching Loki is his cock. "I will stay right here, my love. When you're ready, take your pleasure from me as you will."

"That sounds suspiciously like you want me to do all the work," Loki says. He glances back over his shoulder at Thor, eyes narrowed. "You aren't trying to neglect your husbandly duties, are you?"

Thor's grin is too boyish and lovely to be believed. "Think of it as a chance for you to give me a lovely view while I catch my breath."

"Lazy oaf," Loki mutters, and hangs his head as he becomes accustomed to the heated stretch of his body around Thor. It takes time, but soon everything fits as it should and Loki finds himself wanting more. He presses back onto Thor, careful to take it slow, breathing out a loud sigh when he takes the entire glorious length.

Back and forth, back and forth, his ass slapping against Thor as he gradually quickens his pace. He had thought that perhaps Thor would not be able to keep still for very long, but he is annoyed to see that his husband remains completely motionless except for a widening smile, his arms at his sides, not even touching Loki.

"Please, love." He tosses his head to get his hair out of his eyes. "Fuck me."

"You seem to be doing a fine job of it," Thor purrs. His fingers reach back and trail along the arches of Loki's feet, making him shiver. "What do you need me for?"

"Don't be cruel," Loki says. "It doesn't suit you."

"It's not cruelty that keeps me still." Thor leans back even farther, making Loki sob and work harder to reclaim him. "You're just beautiful to watch."

Loki doesn't feel beautiful, as sweaty and sticky as he is. He feels like a wreck, and Thor is the reef he's tossed upon. He slams back into the solid wall of Thor's hips with a loud smacking sound. "If you don't fuck me properly, I'll…." He trails off, unsure.

"You'll what?" Thor laughs.

"I suppose I'll have to beg," Loki says, quiet and wondering. He's never wanted to beg for anyone before, but now it's all his body can tell him to do. "Is that what you want to hear? That I love your cock?" He takes Thor's moan as a yes. "I can't get enough of it. I need you to give me more. Please, touch me, don't—" And to his absolute horror, Loki finds his voice cracking, though he still fucks himself back and forth on Thor's unmoving prick. "Don't let me feel so alone when you're right here, please—"

"Oh, my love." And just like that, Thor is surrounding him, enfolding him in his arms, wrapping a wide palm around his dribbling cock. He can feel Thor's heart pounding against his spine. "It's all right."

"I'm sorry." Loki is fighting for breath, throat closing tight as the rest of him. He's shown too many cards, he's as open as a book, he's a mouse dissected on a student's table. He's not even sure what he's apologizing for any longer. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—"

Thor pulls out of him and Loki nearly screams in frustration. But that lasts only for the moment it takes for Thor to flip him onto his back and line himself up with Loki's hole. He slides back inside while Loki cries out. Loki wraps his arms and legs around Thor until he's anchored to him, impossible to separate.

"It's all right," Thor says again, and kisses him. His hands tremble in Loki's hair. His face, open and beloved, says that he understands but Loki doesn't see how that's possible, given he doesn't understand himself.

He'll just have to trust that Thor knows what he's doing. As Thor has trusted him. He tucks his face against Thor's shoulder and lets the tears come, riding the sinuous thrusts of his brother-lover-husband-king. His everything.

Their lovemaking reaches a faster, more assured pace. Thor reaches underneath Loki to lift him, one half of his ass cupped in his palm, off the ground and closer. Loki's shoulders dig into the soft grass. He takes himself in hand, and Thor murmurs his approval, tells him to stroke off while he watches. His body aches to find its end, but he needs to feel Thor's release.

"You're close?" he chokes out, and Thor is already nodding, his forehead coming to rest against Loki's, their open mouths sharing the same heated air.

Thor's hips plow forward while he whispers his love to Loki, soft sounds and barely formed words, but Loki finds he can translate every meaning. Then Thor inexplicably pulls his cock from Loki's ass, though he works it with his hand right up against his hole.

"No, please—" Loki cries.

"Don't worry, I have you," Thor grits out between clenched teeth before coming with a low roar. His seed splashes hot against Loki's skin, dripping down his cleft to patter on the grass below.

Oh, it's delicious. Loki's hand speeds on his own cock, and it's almost enough to bring him to his peak, but then he feels Thor pressing the blunt head of his still-hard prick back into Loki's come-covered hole.

"I know you love to feel it pushed inside," Thor says, out of breath and beautiful above him. And he does exactly that, guiding his cock back inside, slick and messy and wonderful.

That is more than enough to send Loki over the edge. He spends across his taut belly as Thor fucks him full of his seed.

The illusion of their Asgardian clearing flickers and fades as Loki's mind goes blank, but neither of them notice or care. They are filthy, so Thor thinks to conjure a light rain for them complete with distant thunder. The shower feels blessedly cool on Loki's overheated skin as he washes in the rain with Thor, the both of them unhurried, kissing and touching each other in the downpour. Then they find a dry patch of ground and make a bed of their rumpled wedding clothes. They curl up together there, Loki's cheek on Thor's chest, holding him like a favorite pillow. For a long time, they do nothing but lay there and breathe and watch the stars wheel overhead.

"Why can't we be like this always?" Thor asks, breaking the quiet.

"Well," Loki drawls, "I'm willing to try if you are, but we might need breaks to eat and sleep between the marathon fucking."

"No, I mean—" Thor sighs, pulling a hand through his hair. "Why can't we be like this on the ship? Together, with everyone knowing it."

"Thor…." Loki chooses his words with caution. His fingertips make nonsense patterns along Thor's chest. "I want that too, truly. But I still worry that our people would not accept me as your consort."

"They will love you. As I do, as our girls do."

"Perhaps in time they might," Loki says. "But right now? I can't bring myself to add to their worries. We shouldn't spring this news on them until this dragon and this planet and our supply problems are behind us. Once our people are out of danger, then we can present the truth of our marriage to them." He picks up his head and looks at Thor. "Can you wait? I know it's rather unfair, asking you to do more waiting, but—"

"No, you're right." Thor kisses the corner of his mouth. "They've been through so much. We can share our joy later." He gives a frustrated grunt. "Though I do not like the idea of hiding it."

Loki lays his head back down above Thor's heart and listens to its sacred work. "I don't either," he says, and it's the truth, and he is shocked by it. He's actually looking forward to the day when he can walk hand in hand with his husband and tell anyone who cares to know that they are in love. With each other, even. It sounds too good to be true, like some children's story that ends with a first kiss.

Thor pets a hand through Loki's hair, splaying out the dark strands on his stomach and combing out the tangles with his fingers. "I will be very happy once everyone knows the truth," he says. "I don't want anymore secrets. Especially not between us."

Loki closes his eyes briefly. How can he put it so that Thor will understand? "My love, I am very new to these honest ways, but I should begin by telling you that I am not perfect. I might falter. No, I almost certainly _will_ falter. But please believe me when I say I will try to be more open. It just might not happen all at once, or right away."

"I understand." Thor nods like a sage. "There are things you are not ready to show the world. Like your Lady's shape. These things take time."

Loki blinks. That particular secret hadn't even occurred to him—he's thinking mostly of the tesseract—but Thor isn't wrong. "Yes," he agrees in a strangled voice. "Time."

"Time is something we have plenty of," Thor says, wrapping an arm around Loki to hold him close. "Take as much as you need."

"I love you," says Loki. It slips out without a thought as to the consequences. It's such a foreign feeling that Loki gets a thrill of fear and excitement from the words.

"And I, you." Thor's lips are soft in his hair. "My sweet husband."

They sleep under the stars that night, the humid Hassee air enveloping them as they embrace each other, naked and exhausted and totally enamored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying! This was sure a lot of sex! 
> 
> I am on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> What else? Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Next time: back to reality, fuck-o's.


	16. Chapter 16

The morning comes like a dream that's not ready to burn away with the sunlight. The thick, comfortable fog of it wraps itself around Loki's mind. He half-wakes to Thor's mouth around his prick, which is an infinitely better way to wake than any other Loki has so far tried. He stretches on the sandy ground, arms above his head, and glances down the length of his body to watch Thor working at his growing erection. Their gazes meet, a wicked smile on Thor's distended lips, but they do not speak. There is no need for that. Loki lets his head fall back against the ground with a sigh, his fingers threading through Thor's short hair, not pulling, really, but petting.

He spills easily into Thor's warm mouth. His hips barely twitch; the only sound he makes is a soft outpouring of breath. This lazy lovemaking—both of them still exhausted from the night before—is as sweet as anything Loki could imagine. When Thor is finished swallowing, he crawls up Loki's body to settle atop him like a heavy, heated blanket.

"I couldn't help myself," he says before kissing Loki with his flavorful mouth. "You looked so delicious in your sleep."

"Mmmm." Loki keeps his hands in Thor's hair and tugs him back to his lips to kiss him once again. "How lucky I am to have won your favor. Allow me to give you some in return?" His thigh rises between Thor's legs to brush against the hard ridge of his cock.

"I would love nothing more," Thor says with a sigh. "Yet I fear we must be going. Morning will be over soon and the others must be wondering where we are." He squints up at the sky. It's a bit overcast but the faint blur of the sun is still visible and climbing high.

Loki lets out a groan and lays his forearm across his eyes. "Must we return to our lives? Can't we stay here just a little while longer?"

Thor tickles at his throat with his beard, kissing along its strained column. "I wish we could, but I am a King and you are my Advisor, and we are responsible for a ship full of people."

"I dislike responsibility," Loki sighs. "Perhaps I should be demoted. I could be responsible only for your royal spend." He reaches down and gives Thor a tug in demonstration.

Thor makes a show of considering it. "I'm sorry, love, but you'll just have to see to that in addition to your other duties. In these difficult times, every Asgardian must serve the kingdom with all their talents."

Loki's nose wrinkles at the proclamation. "Well, I'm not _really_ an Asgardian, am I?" He says this lightly, another piece of banter between them in this hazy, beautiful morning.

But Thor's face falls into something very hard and pinched. "What do you mean?" he asks. "Your claim to our heritage is as good as anyone's, as good as my own. Has anyone told you otherwise?"

Loki brushes a small kiss over Thor's lips. "Would my dear husband defend my honor against any who might call me Frost Giant? Laufeyson? Interloper?" He is still teasing, but his smile drops as Thor rears back to hold himself above Loki with his strong arms acting as tent poles.

"Who calls you an interloper?" Thor growls. "I would have words with them."

"Calm yourself," Loki says, and runs his hands up those arms as if soothing a wild beast. "No one has said it, not to my face. I was merely joking."

Thor is not pleased with this explanation if the jut of his jaw means anything. "I would not like to hear such things said about you. Even if you are the one saying them." He tilts his head as he looks down at Loki. His knuckles brush along his jaw. "Do you really think of yourself that way? Still?"

"I—" Loki looks away into the dense scrub forest. Now is probably a good time to practice that damned honesty. "Sometimes, I suppose. But today?" He loops his arms around Thor's thick neck and raises himself up enough to kiss him soundly. "Today I think I belong."

"Good. We can work on every day after." Thor kisses him in return, slow and tender. When he pulls away at last, it is with a noise of frustration. "We really should be going."

They collect their wedding clothes from the ground. Though Loki's surcoat has suffered a few ripped buckles and Thor's sleeveless garment has popped several stitches, they dress with great care, fingertips brushing the damage with something like faint nostalgia even though the memory is but one night old. Thor picks up the dagger that Loki had given him at their wedding ceremony and hooks it onto his belt as if it is some treasured piece of antiquity.

"I cannot lose this," he says, almost to himself.

Loki laces up his boots and says, "If you did I could always make you another one."

"This one is special to me." Thor tosses him a grin before turning toward the woods. "Come, I think this is the way."

They pass a pleasant hour or so walking through the forest. Where the trees are thin enough, they manage to walk side by side, Thor holding Loki's hand or Loki's arm slung about Thor's waist. When the bramble forces them to part, they walk one in front of the other, taking turns on point by unspoken agreement. Their chatter is mostly concerned with what course of action is best taken today regarding the repairs, the injured, and a dozen other tasks that require their attention, which, admittedly, has been sorely lacking of late.

Though there is much work to be done, Loki finds a satisfied easiness blooming in his belly. Nothing is insurmountable now that his husband is at his side. They will win the day together, and Loki is content to know that all is as it should be. Strange how it's all fallen into place like this. Satisfaction used to be a ghost to him, something he could barely make out in shape and certainly never touch.

He interrupts Thor's meandering conversation about the merits and demerits of Hasseean fuels to say, "I love you. Have I told you yet today?"

Thor's smile shines brighter than the sun, surely.  "You had not, love. Not that I was keeping track." His hand finds Loki's. "Now that we are married, have you thought at all about what I said earlier? About—?" He glances meaningfully at Loki's belly, flat beneath his clothes.

Loki clutches at his stomach with a jolt of laughter. "Natural-born offspring, you mean? I don't know. I'm not sure if it is even possible."

"But if it is?" Thor presses.

Loki watches him from the corner of his eye. "You seem awfully eager to get me with child, Thor. Perhaps you are not so ambivalent as you said."

"No, I would leave the decision to you, honestly. I am only curious as to what your feelings are."

"My feelings?" Loki thinks on this. "I'm not sure I could stay in one form for all the months it would take to grow a child. It sounds so stifling. And besides." He swings their joined hands to his lips so he can kiss Thor's knuckles. "We already have two wonderful children. Why take our chances on another?" He shoots Thor a wry smile. "The third child is always the biggest disappointment, they say."

Thor pulls on his hand so he is right up against Thor's side. "That's my husband you insult," he mock-hisses into Loki's ear before kissing it. "I'll not have another word said against him."

"Speaking of the girls," Loki says, ducking another tickle of Thor's beard against his neck, "were you serious when you said you would name them your heirs?"

"Of course." Thor shrugs. "There is some precedent, I think, for adopted heirs but even if there is not— Well, things have changed, haven't they? We can do what we think is best instead of sticking to tradition."

Loki's heart flutters in his chest. To think, his own girls, the rightful heirs of Asgard. That is, if they want to be. "We should talk with them both," he says. "Thorunn and Droplaug will need to understand the gravity of being in the line of succession; I'd like them to decide for themselves whether to take that path."

"Sensible." Thor nods. "Though I have no doubt that they will agree. Thorunn will be an excellent queen."

Loki looks at him askance. "Why do you say Thorunn?"

"She is the eldest, is she not?"

Loki laughs sharp enough to startle a bird from a nearby tree. "No, you oaf. Droplaug is older by about five months." At Thor's confused look, Loki elaborates: "Same father, different mothers. A strange tale, and long; I'll tell it to you sometime. Thorunn might appear older because of her height but I assure you, she is the younger of the two. They've reminded me often."

"So Droplaug would be the next in line to the throne?" Thor's face contorts into something Loki finds note-worthy. "Erm, birth order is such an old-fashioned way to name a monarch. We might forge our own path in this too while we're at it."

"Why?" Loki's hackles rise with the need to defend his little Droplet. "Do you prefer Thorunn for the throne? Someone more like yourself?"

"Well…." Thor's face scrunches as he struggles to speak.

Loki stops in the middle of the path and stands facing Thor, hands on his hips. "You think Droplaug weak, don't you? Just because she's small and shy and has a tendency to cry a bit, you can't imagine her wearing the crown, is that right?"

"It's not—" Thor bites his tongue and drops his chin to his chest.

"Is that right?" Loki demands again.

Thor picks up his head again. "I am sure Droplaug would make a fine ruler, my love. I only meant—"

The wind shifts. Loki feels something cold and terrible in the back of his mind, a whisper of leathery wings. They both look up in time to see the huge shape of the Nidhogg passing above them in the cloud-strewn sky, screeching for its prey.

"You fool," Loki hisses, eyes wide as he stares at Thor. " _This_ is what you lie about?"

"Yes, all right, fine," Thor says. "I admit I have trouble seeing Droplaug as a Queen. She's just so—" He makes a vague gesture at about hip height. "Tiny."

"You absolute bullheaded—!" Loki sucks in a deep breath, shaking a finger in Thor's direction. "No. We'll argue later." He looks around for any sort of cover, though he sees nothing but sickly trees and stubby brush. "I have no weapon. How are we to fight off this dragon?"

The Nidhogg gives them no time to decide. It falls from the sky, shaking the ground as it lands. Loki is knocked off balance by that and with a leap to the side to avoid the dragon's swinging neck. He picks himself off the ground and realizes he's been separated from Thor, who had been forced to jump to the other side, with the Nidhogg now between them.

"I heard you from miles away," the dragon intones. Its wedge of a head swivels to face Thor. "A lie from you for once. Not as delicious as your Trickster's, but it will do in a pinch."

"It was only a small, white lie," Thor says, measuring the scant distance between thumb and forefinger. "Surely such a thing shouldn't count."

"A starving man counts every morsel," the Nidhogg roars. Its claws slash at Thor, but he ducks just in time.

"Thor, the dagger!" Loki calls from his relative place of safety on the dragon's far flank.

"I'll not chip it on this creature's scales," Thor says in return.

Loki rolls his eyes. "Right. Because it's _special_." Speed is what will save them, Loki thinks. That and a bit of luck. He is opening his mouth to tell Thor to run when a shadow appears at the corner of his eye. The massive dragon's tail hits him before he can move. It's as if a warship has smashed into him at full tilt. He goes rolling along the ground until the ground drops away.

And then Loki is falling.

A ravine, he thinks as he bashes against a stony slope. He's fallen from worse heights; he knows to keep his face protected with his arms. His seidr pulses wildly, attempting to save him with a ward or a spell, but the Nidhogg must still be too close.

Loki finally comes to a stop at the bottom, groaning at the dozen aches and bruises that now decorate him. He rolls over onto his back and looks up at the cliff he's just fallen from. It's a sheer rock face between him and the battle, and when he regains his feet and tries to find a handhold with which to climb back up, the chalky stone crumbles between his fingers.

The Nidhogg roars in the forest above him. Thor's golden head pops into view over the edge of the cliff.

"Loki, are you all right?" he calls down.

"I'm fine," he shouts back, and brushes some dirt from his surcoat, "but I can't get back to you from here!"

"Stay there and I'll—" Another roar, and Thor disappears. There's the sound of a fierce fight, trees splintering and ground shaking. A few small rocks tumble down the ravine as Loki watches with his heart stuck in his gullet.

"Thor!?"

Thor reappears with a few smears of grime across his face and— Loki squints. Is that blood?

"New plan," Thor calls. "I'm taking our scaly friend on a little journey. Meet me back at the ship." He leaves then immediately returns as if he forgot something vital. "I love you!" he yells.

Loki bites down on a fond groan."I love you too but—! Wait!" It's no use. Thor disappears once more and he hears only the screech of the dragon and a loud booming noise. Then silence.

Loki watches the cliff's edge for a moment longer in case Thor comes back into view, but nothing happens. His heart beats faster, but he orders it to be calm; if he lets his concern for Thor turn to panic, he'll be useless. Loki sighs and adjusts the fall of his cloak. "I suppose I need to find a way out of here on my own," he murmurs before taking stock of his surroundings.

The other side of the ravine—the one that's not a sheer, soft rock face—seems to have a more gentle slope, and it appears to flatten out even further around a bend up ahead. It's not the most convenient thing, being stuck in a trench, but Loki has to go in that direction anyway to reach the ship, so he may as well start walking out.

He heads down the narrow path of the ravine and hopes he doesn't get too lost.

After walking for some time around the twists and turns of the ravine, and more than a few failed attempts to scale the slope, Loki comes upon a group of three Hasseeans going in the same direction. One is brown-furred and the other two are a sort of tawny. They wear the usual silver clothes of their people, but they seem to be carrying satchels and baskets filled with things Loki doesn't recognize. At their side is a Lontras, the otter-like animal Loki remembers seeing at the second wedding ceremony. It and the Hasseans turn to watch his approach with wide eyes.

"Hello," he says. He's a little out of breath but glad to see some friendly, if surprised, faces. "I'm wondering if you can help me get out of this damned trench. I was attacked by a dragon this morning, and— Well, it's a long story. Do you think you could show me the way if it's not too much trouble?"

"You're the Prince of Asgard," one says, pointing at him. "You are speaking to us?"

"I don't think there's anyone else about." Loki looks around the desolate landscape. The Hasseeans seem to quail before him, taking small steps away as he watches. "Are you all right?"

"The Prince doesn't realize," another hisses to their companions. "It's not their custom."

"What's not?" Loki asks at the same moment he notices that their little ears are bare. Not a jewel in sight. "Ah, I see. You're all unmarried."

The brown one takes a deep breath before addressing Loki. "We have heard that your people might not separate themselves the way ours do. Is that true? Are we permitted to speak to you?"

"I certainly hope you will," he says. "As I said, I need assistance."

"And we need your help as well." The Hasseean points to themself. "My name is Hobe. These are Boden and Pembroke." They place their hands on their chests in greeting.

"And this is Muce," Pembroke says, patting the Lontras on its sleek head. The creature sniffs in Loki's direction but does not go up to him to lick his hand as a hound might. "Don't worry, they're just shy," Pembroke assures.

"Congratulations on your wedding ceremony," Boden says. "We were not permitted to attend, of course, but we heard it was beautiful. It was the talk of the village."

"Thank you." He gives them all a small bow. "Now what sort of help do you need?"

The one called Hobe pipes up. "We are making our way to your ship, actually. Of course we will gladly guide you, but once we arrive, perhaps you can—" They fidget with the strap of their satchel. "—plead our case?"

Loki frowns. "And what case is that?"

"We want to leave Hassee with you," Boden says. "We wish to join you on your journey."

"You do?" Loki looks at them each in turn. Their three furred faces are pinched in honest anticipation. "But why?"

"We've heard rumors that people of every planet and race are aboard your ship. Perhaps, in a place like that, we will not be treated as outcasts as we are by our own people." Hobe digs their toe in the soft sand, looking down at the patterns they make on the ground. "It is very un-Hasseean, to look for adventure in this way. But we three discussed it at length and agreed this might be our best chance for freedom."

"Freedom? Are you not free now?"

"Here on Hassee, we are not abused as such," Pembroke adds quickly. "We are given the same food and care as everyone else. And yet, we are ignored. Treated like wisps. We cannot look a married person in the eye, or speak to them, or be heard in a committee. We interact only with each other." They gesture to their companions.

"A lonely life, to be sure," Loki murmurs. He thinks about growing up in the palace with no peers of his own. Not the same, of course, but still he can sympathize.

Pembroke nods. "And all the while, we are given pamphlets and treatises on the goodness of marriage. Every day in subtle ways we are told that we must strive to be married, and if we don't, we are nothing but disappointments in the eyes of our people."  

Loki stares at them, aghast. "I'm so sorry," he says. "I knew marriage was important on Hassee, but I never stopped to think what it must be like for you."

"It is no fault of yours. We are made invisible on purpose. You couldn't have imagined it without speaking to us. This, too, is by design." Hobe inclines their little head. "So will you help us gain acceptance on your ship? Or perhaps," more fidgeting, "we will not be welcome there either."

Loki thinks for a moment. The ship is already at capacity, but the Hasseeans are small. Space can be made. Now that Banner has replaced the Hulk, perhaps he could share that large room. Besides, what is the point of a ship full of refugees if it does not carry all who need saving?

"I will speak to the King on your behalf," Loki declares. "I am certain my husband will agree to allow you aboard. The only concern I have is whether this will anger the other Hasseeans. We have struck a deal with them regarding some food-producing technology, and I wouldn't want to jeopardize that unless absolutely necessary."

Hobe grins wide. "If anything, our people will be overjoyed that you are taking us away. We are considered a burden to our society, you see."

"And if it helps your King decide," Pembroke says, "we three have some skill in the mechanical arts. We are often tasked with repairing the silos and manufacturing relays outside the village. If your people need training to operate your new technology, or if it needs tuning up, we can do that for you."

"Then I see no reason why you cannot join us," Loki says. He gestures down the path of the narrow ravine. "Shall we?"

The unmarried Hasseeans give a collective sigh of relief and exchange happy, tired smiles before leading Loki through the maze of rock. They squeeze through a tight crevice between two boulders to reach a more direct path out of the ravine. It's a good thing he met them, he thinks. He would have wandered far afield if he'd been on his own.

As they walk, Loki tries to strike up idle conversation, but the shy little creatures don't seem inclined to comment on the weather or the temperment of their Lontras, which trots at their heels and snuffles at the plants they pass. Finally Loki's curiosity overcomes his politeness.

"May I ask how you three find yourselves unmarried? It must be very rare in a place like this where the pressure to pair up is so great."

"That is true; there are very few of us living in the barracks," Hobe says. At Loki's questioning glance, they elaborate: "The dwellings are set aside for married couples and families. Unmarried Hasseeans are grouped together in a shared space. Close quarters. The better to 'find an appropriate spouse,' so the committees say." They make quote marks in the air around the words.

"Joke's on them," Pembroke says. "Living with these nimrods only made me certain that marriage is not for me." They laugh and push at each other while Loki watches, amused.

"I was nearly married in my youth," offers Boden. "But the one I intended to marry chose another. So I decided not to try again." They shrug. "Now it's been so long, no one would have me anyway."

"And I find the entire idea repulsive, if I'm honest," Hobe says, frowning. "I guess that's very unnatural."

"It's not unnatural at all," Loki says as he picks his way over some loose rocks. "Before my own marriage, I felt very much the same." Then, realizing how that sounds, he adds hastily, "Not to imply that your views will change as mine did. Everyone is different, I'm sure."

Hobe lays a furred hand on Loki's elbow, grinning up at him. "I like you, Prince of Asgard. You're very kind. Folks like us do not often experience such treatment."

Loki blinks, thinking over this declaration. "I'm not sure I've ever been described as kind. You might find many aboard the ship who will disagree, my friend."

"Well, they must be so used to kindness that they cannot see yours," Hobe answers easily. They look up at the sun as if gauging something. "Nearly there, I think."

True to their word, the ravine comes to an end, leveling out into the forest. Loki and his Hasseean companions reach the ship in short order. It's odd, the way the sight of the gleaming metal hull has begun to feel like homecoming to Loki. He wonders if Thor has already arrived, and in what condition.

"Excuse me," he says to the Hasseeans, and jogs ahead to receive word. He spots the Valkyrie, Banner, and Korg outside the gangway, working to repair the landing gear so that the ship no longer lists to one side. The Valkyrie lifts the great weight as Banner directs her with nervous gestures. Korg turns to greet Loki, but Loki has only one response.

"Is the King here?"

"His Majesty returned a little while ago." The Valkyrie grunts and nods into the belly of the cargo bay. "Said he wanted his armor. Looked a little ragged. Guess you ran into that dragon again, hm?"

"But he's all right?"

"Looked all right to me," Korg says. "Maybe one or two scratches. But he's tough. For someone with skin."

Loki breathes a sigh of relief. The three Hasseeans and their Lontras approach, and he gestures them forward in welcome. "Come, let's get you all settled."

"Are you certain we are allowed to go aboard?" Hobe asks, eyeing the gangway warily. "Perhaps we should wait."

"You are my guests. I can bring you wherever I please," Loki says. "Come. It's all right."

Boden blinks. "I've never been anyone's guest before." And with only a little trepidation, they toddle up the gangway and into the ship. The others follow, Muce at their heels.

Loki leads them through the twisting corridors. The ship is strangely quiet; they meet no one as they make their way toward the Great Hall. Loki supposes that everyone must be eating the midday meal in the mess.

"Why don't you wait in here," Loki says, ushering the Hasseeans through the Hall's great metal doors, "and I will seek out my husband so that we might—"

"Oh," says Hobe as they enter the Hall. "So many people."

Loki looks up from the Hasseeans to find himself staring at nearly the entire population of the ship. Asgardians and aliens alike are amassed in the wide open space, and every single creature appears to be armed. In every hand, Loki sees nicked broadswords and strung bows and some weapons of alien origin he cannot name. All eyes are upon him and the Hasseeans in the doorway as if they've interrupted a very dire conversation. It's as silent as a graveyard and just as welcoming.

"What's happened?" Loki asks the crowd. "Why does it look as if you're all preparing for war?"

"Because war has come for us," says an Asgardian at the head of the crowd. "Where have you been hiding in the meanwhile, my Prince?"

The way he sneers the honorific makes Loki's memory jolt. He knows this old fellow; it's the same busybody he'd found in the hallways, whispering rumors and bowing in belated deference. He's a stout old man, long hair and beard the color of wispy clouds, eyes beady as they stare him down. In his hands is a weatherbeaten axe. In some ways, Loki is reminded of his late Father.

"I have not been hiding," Loki says slowly. "I was merely waylaid by the dragon. Is that what you're readying yourself to fight, kind sir?"

"Bjorn," the man corrects with unbecoming bluntness. "That is my name. And yes, we will take care of the dragon, myself and any true warriors who will join me. No one else seems to be doing anything."

"I see. Thank you, Bjorn." Loki scans the faces in the crowd. There are a range of expressions but the dominant one might be described as tension. "The dragon is powerful, but not invulnerable. It will be dangerous, but if we all work together, I am certain—"  

"Look! He wants us to fight the thing for him!" Bjorn roars at the mass of people. "What have I been saying all along? We should hand the Trickster Prince over to the Nidhogg and be done with it!"

Loki draws back, his hand going to his throat. The crowd bursts into a cacophony of noise. There are shouts of agreement and dissent, and it is impossible to tell which faction is loudest.

"Wait a moment, wait just a moment," he says, but no one can hear him. So he sends his seidr up into the air in a burst of blinding light. The crowd gasps and quiets somewhat, turning back to Loki. "I admire your plan. It's elegant in its simplicity," he tells Bjorn, though he is still looking over the entire crowd. "However, I'm afraid there is a small detail you've neglected: I would very much prefer to remain uneaten."

Bjorn gives a humorless bark of laughter. "I don't see how your preferences make any difference. You disappeared with the King for days, and when His Highness returns, he's alone? Covered in blood? You abandoned him in battle; we have no use for you. If we give you to the dragon, it will leave us be." A few mumbles of agreement shoot through the crowd, but so do disgusted exclamations.

"I did not abandon the King," Loki says. "Ask him yourself. He will tell you—"

"He will tell us what you've enchanted him to say," another gravelly voice breaks in. The elder woman, Loki realizes as he spots her wizened face in the sea of people. "I know you've woven your terrible magic around his mind, Mischief Maker."

Loki laughs. "That's ridiculous. The King is not under any spell! He is his own man."

"Why else would he allow a murderer aboard? The one who, for all we know, killed the Allfather to take his place on the throne?" She jabs her crooked finger in his direction.

More shouts rise up from the gathering. Loki tries to speak over them, but it's difficult in the echoing chamber. "I admit I have deceived you in the past, and my transgressions are too many to name, but I did not kill Odin and I would never imprison Thor's mind. If I were lying, the Nidhogg would be here at our doorstep this very minute!"

"So you say. But why should we trust you when it comes to how the beast operates?" Bjorn cries out. "We could not trust you to defend us when it attacked. And you still will not tell us where you have been all this time!"

Loki struggles to find words in his dry mouth. He cannot lie, but he also cannot tell this angry mob that he'd been absent from the ship to secretly marry their King. That would not go over very well at all, he's sure.

"There are political factors at work on this planet," he manages to say. "The King and I were required to fulfill certain expectations in order to gain the Hasseeans' favor."

"In my day, there was no talk of gaining favor. Just the sound of a hammer on skulls," mutters an old warrior woman.

"Let the Prince speak," shouts another Asgardian. "You may not like what he has to say, but he's still our King's Advisor."

Bjorn snorts. "He speaks but says nothing. What are political factors? What are these expectations? I say he's lying now, and he's lying about the dragon sniffing out lies."

A storm of angry voices threatens to overtake the Great Hall, and Loki girds himself against it. Suddenly, an unexpected voice rises above the din.

"Prince Loki is not lying!" Hobe cries.

He'd almost forgotten his guests. Loki blinks at the Hasseean, who stands off to the side fretting with the strap of their satchel. Now that all eyes are on the poor creature, they seem to regret speaking up.

"The Prince is not lying," Hobe says again, more quietly. "Loki has been a friend to us when no one else would, and it's only right to defend someone's good character. And as for the time spent away in the village—" Hobe brightens, standing straighter. Loki realizes too late what is coming and cannot stop it from tumbling out of that little, honest mouth. "The Prince and the King had to be wed before our committees. I did not witness it myself, but I heard it was a lovely wedding. I'm surprised more of you weren't in attendance. Then again, you must have had a ceremony of your own." At everyone's wide-eyed astonishment, Hobe frowns and asks, "Why do you stare? Have I spoken out of turn?"

Loki sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Now he's well and truly fucked. The shouts come quickly and with fury.

"A wedding!?"

"The King has been wed?"

"To his brother! His own brother!"

"This has been the plot all along," says Bjorn between clenched, grey teeth. "The Prince is seizing power the only way he knows how, through tricks and cheats."

He needs to regain control of the situation. A smile floats to his lips in an attempt at charm. "Please calm yourselves." Loki pats at the air with his hands. It isn't very effective. "My Hasseean friend is a bit confused. The story is more complicated than that."

"So you deny it?" The crone surges forward and grabs Loki by the arm with surprising strength, jerking him to the side and pointing at his head. "Look at this! He wears a twelve-strand braid in his hair! Like some maiden on her wedding day."

His hand flies up to his hair and touches the braid that still decorates one side of his head. He'd completely forgotten about the thing. Howls of disbelief thunder through the hall; wild eyes roll. For the first time since being confronted by the crowd, Loki feels real fear thrumming in his veins. His eyes dart from face to face, looking for an ally, but those who might defend him—just Thor, really, or perhaps the Valkyrie—are nowhere to be found.

His gaze finally falls on two small shapes huddled by the back wall. His girls stand there, holding hands tightly, watching him through the crowd and biting their lips. His breath leaves his body at the sight. It's too dangerous for them; they cannot be here. The crowd is on a knife's edge and may plunge into violence at any moment. He stares at them with pleading eyes. Go, he mouths at them. Disappear.

Thorunn shakes her head fiercely but Droplaug nods and, clutching Thorunn's hand in her own, shuts her eyes and begins to whisper an old incantation. Loki sees them shimmer from view, the invisibility spell passing over them like a veil. He sags in the grip of the angry old woman. He must set this right. For his daughters' sakes.

He lifts his head to speak loud and clear. "You are all fearful—justifiably so. So much has happened since we landed on this planet, and it is true I have not shared all the facts with you yet." He swallows, watching the faces in the crowd. "Yes, I have married the King. But—" Loki raises his voice above the fresh wave of protests and shouts. "But I did not do this to be closer to the throne! I know how it must look, but I swear on my life this is not one of my old tricks!"

"No, it's a new one," Bjorn declares, and grabs Loki's other arm in his chapped hand. "I won't listen to such nonsense. Let us throw him to the dragon!" He shakes Loki, and the crone holding his other arm joins in.

Loki looks down at the hands that grip him with such bruising force and levels a withering look at the two elders. "I will ask you as nicely as I know how. Please take your hands off me; I don't want to see anybody injured today."

"Threats now! Isn't that princely?" Bjorn laughs in his face and hefts his axe in his free hand.

The sound of a bowstring being drawn taut sings through the Hall. All heads swivel to see Bridget in her white healer's robes, a quiver slung over her shoulder and the point of her arrow aimed at the old warrior's head. Loki admires her stance; she must have been quite the archer in her youth.

"Let the Prince go," she says. "What you propose is not only treason, it's barbaric."

"Is it treason to protect the King?" the crone spits out. "Stand aside, you silly woman. We outnumber you."

"I would disagree," says a voice in the crowd. Loki looks up to find every healer, nearly a dozen in all, standing sentinel in a ring around the crowd, arrows nocked and ready to fly. A small army of women in white robes, standing up for him?

"We defend our own," Bridget says in answer to the unasked question. "Prince Loki is one of the healers of Asgard; you will not harm him on our watch."

Bjorn's eyes bulge. "This Jotun is no more a healer than a poisonous snake is! And anyway, only women can be healers."

"Well." Loki tips his head from side to side, squinting. "I mean, some days—" Maybe this isn't the best time to explain his forms to the people. There are bigger things at stake. He shakes his head to clear it. "Nevermind that. I suggest we all take a step back and lay down our weapons so we can talk about this."

"Not likely," Bjorn says.

Loki presses his lips into a thin, dissatisfied line. "All right. I did try." And with that, he shapeshifts into a snake and slips from their grasping hands.

Falling to the floor as a snake is always a bit disconcerting. There's the screaming, of course, as well as the booted feet to avoid, whether they're fleeing or stomping. But Loki is quick enough even in this form. He slithers away while simultaneously casting his own veil of invisibility. Before anyone can figure out what's happening, Loki is gone.

He returns to his usual shape as soon as he leaves the Great Hall, running as fast as his legs will carry him down the corridor. The sound of his boots pounding against the metal floors rings out in sharp staccato, which can't be helped, but he remains invisible in case he runs into anyone in the hallway.

His heart nearly seizes in his chest when he trips over some unseen thing on the ground. He catches himself against the wall just in time to prevent a nasty fall. His eyes dart along the floor. He hears a small whimper that he instantly recognizes.

"Girls?" he whispers.

"Pumi!" Two invisible sets of arms wrap around his knees.

He places his hand on a little head, feeling Thorunn's curly hair. His other hand finds Droplaug's messy braids easily. "My darlings. Thank the Norns you're safe."

"We can't see you but we can see each other," Thorunn says. "Does our spellwork hide us that well?"

"So it seems," Loki says. "Sweethearts, listen to me. We don't have much time; someone may come looking for us at any moment."

"Why were those people so angry?" Droplaug sobs. Loki can feel her tears soaking into the fabric of his breeches. "They wanted to hurt you. I was frightened."

"It would take too long to explain, Droplet. Don't worry, I'm going to find your Father. He will settle the matter. But right now you must go hide. Is there somewhere you can go where no one will find you? Somewhere secret?"

There is a long silence. Loki cannot see his girls, but he can imagine their shared look. Finally Droplaug says, "There's the cage room."

"Cage room?"

"Yes. No one goes near it, not since we landed," Thorunn says. "It's where Father was being hurt by his own storms."

The machine-laden room where Thor used his lightning to power the ship's engines. Of course. "How did you find that out? You're not supposed to go in there. It's much too dangerous." He can't keep the note of pride from his voice.

"We know, Pumi, but when you're very small, no one notices when you go places you shouldn't," Thorunn says. "Anyway, we won't touch anything. We can hide there."

Loki sighs. They don't have many other options at this point. "All right." He presses kisses into their hair. "I love you. Watch out for each other. I will come find you when it's safe."

Small hands tug at him until he's bent over enough to receive their kisses on his cheek. "Be careful," Droplaug whispers. There's a slight movement of air, and then they're gone.

Loki makes his way to his quarters with a swiftness. It rankles, running to Thor for help like this, but his husband is the only one who might be able to convince their angry shipmates of Loki's motives. They will listen to their King when he explains what's happened and why they had to keep it to themselves. Bjorn and his like-minded followers might still hate Loki, of course, but that can't be helped. If the day ends without any bloodshed, Loki will consider it a good one.

He pushes his way into the room he shares with Thor and drops his invisibility spell. He catches a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror: cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling like a bellows. But then the sight of Thor captures his attention. His husband is standing at the foot of their bed, his broad back to Loki, once more dressed in his armor. Loki says a silent prayer of thanks to a forgotten deity that Thor is there and whole.

He strides across the room. "My love," he says, "you must come quickly. Our people are caught up in the beginnings of a mutiny, but you can quell them if you—"

Thor turns to face him. Loki stops in his tracks. It's not the look of heartbreaking pain on Thor's face that arrests him so totally, although that would be enough by itself. No, it's the sight of what Thor holds cupped in his hands: a bright, glowing blue cube that spells Loki's doom.

When he speaks, Thor's voice is as hard and jagged as quarried stone. "What," he says, "is the meaning of this?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know I know I know, okay???
> 
> I am also screaming.
> 
> Please give me the validation if you can.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's me, your author. I vacillated over whether to leave you this note but decided it's better to be safe than sorry. If you don't want to be sort of spoiled, skip over it! But serious warning here: if you're having a really rough day, like a super rough time of it, and you don't want to feel any rougher, maybe save this chapter for a day when you're feeling a little less rough. 
> 
> Okay? Okay.

Loki stares at the tesseract in Thor's hands. His dry mouth works to form words, but none come. He cannot lose his tongue now, not when everything hangs in the balance. Why did Thor have to discover the damned thing right when they're on the brink of a revolt?

"Thor," he says. "Love," he tries.

Thor narrows his eye and advances on him like a wild beast. Loki cannot help but step back until his spine hits the metal hull.

"Have you had this the entire time?" Thor demands. He crowds into Loki's space, filling it like a storm fills the sky and blots out the sun. Loki cannot see any light when Thor is like this.

"Where did you—?" Loki begins. His voice is so weak, so like himself.

"It was wrapped in the bedsheets. _Our_ bedsheets, Loki." Thor looks around the ruin of their quarters as if he cannot understand where they have found themselves. "Now answer me. Did you have it all this time?"

"I—" Loki cannot speak, but he doesn't need to. He's certain his face is telling Thor all he needs to know.

Thor stares at him, then directs a loud cry at the ceiling. His hands press against the tesseract as if he might crush it to dust with the force of his anger alone.

"Why?" His teeth are clenched. Loki can almost hear their grinding. "Why would you keep this from me? What was the point of—" He gestures to the ship, to the planet, to the dragon flying somewhere unseen nearby, to everything they'd been through in the last few days. "Of any of it?"

"Thor, I never intended—"

"We could have reached our destination months ago!" Thor shouts in his face. "You let me agonize. You watched me lock myself in that machine. You knew I was in pain and you knew you could stop it and you did _nothing_."  

Loki feels his eyes burn with tears. "I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you, but—"

"You lying whore!" he roars.

Thor's hand is at his throat, and Loki clutches at it with both of his own. He's pinned to the wall, unable to break free no matter how hard he struggles. It is strangely similar to all the times they've fought before: as children, as rowdy youths, as bitter enemies years ago. But in this moment, Loki fears Thor in a way he never has.

"I'm not lying," he gasps out. "Think, Thor. I can't be lying, not with the dragon. I took the tesseract from the vault so I could make a quick escape, and I kept it hidden in case I needed to escape again. That day in the hall outside the Hulk's quarters, before we landed on this planet—do you remember? Heimdall interrupted us. I was about to tell you."

Some of the rage drains from Thor's eye, but in its place floods in nothing but hurt. "Then why didn't you?" he asks. "Why did you stay silent?" His hand, still on Loki's throat, relaxes only a fraction.

"Because," Loki whispers. A tear tracks down his hot cheek. Oh, but it hurts him deep in his gut to say the thing out loud. "Because I knew that I couldn't go to Midgard with you. It was selfish, yes, but I didn't want to leave you so soon."

Thor's brow knits into a deep furrow. His hand slides down Loki's chest to rest over his wildly beating heart. "What do you mean?"

A frustrated sigh leaves Loki's lips. Is he the only one who's thought this through? "The Midgardians would never let me seek refuge on their world. They would entomb me in a prison the moment I stepped foot on the ground. I can't do that again, Thor." His voice shakes. "I wouldn't be able to do that again."

"So you come to me!" Thor is shouting again, but his hand leaves Loki to beat at his own chest. "You tell me of these fears! I would have protected you, Loki. I have allies on Midgard; I could have—"

"Oh, the arrogance of you!" Now Loki, too, feels his blood begin to bubble up. "As if you could fix this with a word to your friends! I didn't just smash a cup and leave without replacing it. I attacked Midgard unprovoked; I killed; I nearly destroyed a city! Do you not remember?"

"I remember all too well," Thor says. His face shutters to stone. "But there were paths available to me—to us—that you chose to ignore by keeping this secret. That is your failing, not mine. And it is not arrogant to want to negotiate on your behalf."

"There would be nothing to negotiate!" Loki surges forward, pushing off the wall and getting into Thor's space now. "You would have been left standing in front of all of Midgard, having to decide between me and the safety of our people! And we both know what you would choose! What you should _always_ choose!" The words ring between them, stealing Loki's breath. His throat clicks painfully, a small, clipped-off sound. He cannot look at Thor, so he looks at the floor. "I would say I was trying to avoid it for your sake, that I didn't want to put you in such a horrid position, but the truth is, I was afraid. I still am."

The tears come in earnest then, falling like rain. Loki hides his face in his hands and lets them come. His shoulders shake with each muffled sob. He waits for an embrace that never envelopes him. No comfort for the poisonous snake, he thinks.

"Please say something," he says into his palms.

Silence. Then Thor says, soft and quiet, "I have been a fool." Loki lifts his tear-stained face to stare at his husband. It's the walk to their wedding ceremony all over again: Thor is there, but he isn't. His face is a cold mask, betraying nothing. "Only a fool," Thor says, "would think that you could change. That you could put aside the worst parts of your nature for my sake, or anyone's." He weighs the tesseract in his hand, bouncing it as if testing its mettle. "You are as you were made, Loki. And you will always care for nothing but yourself."

"You're wrong," Loki says through his tears. "I love you, I care for you. That is not a lie. Whatever else you believe, you must know that at least."

Thor examines the cube in his hands as if it holds all the answers. "I don't understand how you can love me yet do something so cruel to me in the same breath," he says at last. "Perhaps you're mistaken and it's not really love after all."

Loki's lip trembles. "No. No, I—"

"You couldn't be blamed for not realizing." Thor shrugs, still turning the tesseract over and over in his hands. "Worms know nothing of the sun." The insult cuts so deeply, Loki clutches his hands to his belly as if it might staunch the bleeding.

"I am not a worm," Loki cries. "I am your husband." Thor gives him an unreadable look that turns Loki's blood to ice. "Aren't I?" he says, softer. Loki wraps his arms around his middle; this cannot be happening. Everything is slipping through his fingers too swiftly.  

Thor inclines his head as if thinking very hard. There is nothing behind his eye as he takes in the sight of Loki standing there hunched before him, awaiting judgement.

"My love," he says, sending Loki's heart soaring for only a moment, "please do not think this a punishment. It is for the best." He takes Loki's hand, pries it from his waist, and drops the tesseract into his open palm.

Loki blinks at the cube he now holds. "I don't understand." He looks up at Thor. "What am I to do with this?"

"You are to take it," Thor says, "and do with it exactly as you planned. Go. Make your escape. Take yourself far from here and leave Asgard be. Your part in this journey is over." And with that, he begins to turn away from Loki.

"What? No!" Loki rushes forward to place himself in front of Thor once again. "Stop for a moment. Do you really want me to leave?"

"What I want is of no importance. You were right, what you said before. A good King would always keep his people at the forefront of his mind. You cannot be allowed to remain here if I cannot trust you. Who knows what dangers you might bring, or what other secrets you might keep."

"But now that you've found this, we can use it!" Loki lifts the tesseract in shaking hands. "I could take the ship somewhere safe! Would that appease you? We could leave this planet and its dragon far behind. We could—"

"You would have us abandon our promises? Leave this planet to that creature's rage?" Thor shakes his head. "That is a coward's path. I will not take it with your spoils of war, and especially not with you."

Loki swallows hard twice. There's nothing he can say to dispute that. He is a coward; Thor knows it better than most. He can only stand there, frozen and weeping.

Thor is unmoved by his tears. He puts his hand on Loki's and folds his fingers tighter around the cube. "Take your trinket and go. You have until sundown. If you're still here then, I'll have you escorted off the ship." Again he turns away and moves toward the door.

"Thor, don't do this, don't—" Loki reaches out to grab Thor by the shoulder, but a stab of lightning laces over Thor's bare skin and burns Loki's fingers. He pulls his hand away with a sharp cry, staring at his husband, now wreathed in blue-white electricity.

"Please," Loki says. "I cannot touch you when you're like this."

Thor stops to look over his shoulder at Loki. His eye is a pool of light. "Then you will not touch me," he says.

Loki flaps his burnt hand through the air, but the pain only worsens. His mind races. He blurts out, "You've forgiven me for all my other terrible sins. Can't you forgive me for this?"

Thor does not blink. The lightning flickers around him. "Perhaps some day I will," he says, "but not today."

Thor leaves their quarters without another word. The door slides shut with a final click. Loki's heart cracks in two at the sound.

He gropes for the edge of the bed behind him and, when he finds it, sits down. His entire body has gone quite numb. The tesseract is a heavy anchor in his hands, too awful to hold, so he places it gently on the bed. That's Thor's side of the bed, his sluggish brain supplies, and he moves it over to his own in case— In case what? He's not even sure what he's doing anymore.

Thor couldn't have meant what he'd said, Loki assures himself. Any moment the oaf will come back through the door, laughing at the look of devastation on Loki's face. You really believed it, he'll say, and he'll call Loki his love and kiss him on the crown of his head.

Any moment.

Loki sits there until he has no more tears to cry and his mind has gone completely blank. His gaze tracks across the room, over the mounds of detritus that still dot the floor. He sees a gold and red robe puddled in a corner. Thor's wedding clothes. Oh, but they'll be wrinkled terribly if they're left in that state.

He folds the garment and places it in a drawer, unaware of when he stood and walked across the room. He looks down at his own wedding raiment and realizes he shouldn't be wearing it. The wedding is over.

And Thor isn't coming back.

All of a sudden, Loki can't stand wearing his green and gold surcoat for one more second. He tears it from his body, ripping more buckles in the process, then decides he must rid himself of the breeches and boots and underclothes. Each piece is discarded on the floor in a torn heap. The last to go is the braid, which Loki destroys utterly, raking his hands through his hair until its twisted strands are freed.

Think, he orders himself. What next? He catches sight of himself in the broken mirror: hair a wild mess and pale, bare body dotted with bruises. Well, you can't stay naked forever, he thinks. He chews on his thumbnail. Armor, he needs his armor.

Loki is a dervish, spinning around the room to grab whatever he can find: a bracer here, his leathers here, both greaves here. He finds the wedding dagger he'd given to Thor, etched with his vows, placed neatly on the side table as if Thor could not stand to feel its weight in his belt any longer. That, too, Loki takes. As he rushes about, his bare foot comes down on some broken glass from his vanity set. He hisses and lifts his foot to survey the damage. The shard is embedded deep in his sole. Blood is already welling up around it.  

He hobbles over to the bed, leaving bloody smears on the carpet. The bits of armor and the dagger get tossed over the tesseract—he can't look at the thing right now—and he sits with his ankle propped across his opposite knee so he can pick the glass out of his foot.

"What am I doing?" he murmurs as he removes first one, then another shard. The pain is almost negligible. It's as if nothing is real. "What in Hel am I doing?"

Why can't he think? He needs a plan. Some way to soothe Thor's anger, to show him that Loki can be trusted. But then there's the rioters in the Great Hall; they complicate things. Thor first, yes? The rest will follow. But Thor won't even listen to him for the time it would take for a simple apology. Loki presses his hands to the sides of his head. It feels like it will burst.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "I have no one to blame but myself," he says. He wishes he'd never seen the tesseract on that fucking pedestal. But if not the tesseract, it would have been something else, wouldn't it? Loki shivers as he ponders the truth: he is a liar, and he always has been, and he will never stop hurting those around him. He isn't built for anything else.

 _That's right_ , hisses a voice in his head. _There's nothing much to you when you think about it, is there?_

He recognizes that voice. His head whips up, but he sees no one else in the room. "Is that you, Nidhogg?" he whispers.

_Some gears are still turning, I see._

"How are you doing this?" Loki rubs his sore temples. His mind is slipping. "I'm not asleep. This isn't a dream. How can you be in my thoughts?"

_We have a special bond, you and I. Perhaps it's destiny. I know you better than anyone else in the universe, Lying God._

"Please." He whimpers, letting his head drop into his hands. "Leave me alone."

 _Are you sure that's what you want?_ Loki can hear the reptilian smirk in that voice. _I am, after all, the only one left. You've lost everything else, haven't you?_

"What do you want from me?" It's directed at the floor, between Loki's knees.

_The same thing I've always wanted: to gnaw on your bones and put an end to your miserable existence._

"Oh, is that all?" Loki gives a bitter laugh. "You're persistent, I'll give you that." He draws his hands down his face, then lets them fall in his lap. "It's not over. I can still fix this. If Thor will only listen—"

 _You cannot fix anything!_ The dragon roars loud in his mind. He claps his hands over his ears but can't drown out the words. _Everything you do, you only serve to make things worse. This time you were at least honest, but given all the facts, your adoring husband saw you for what you really are. You'll never erase that from his memory._

Loki shakes his head. "He said perhaps one day…."

_Do you really want to wait on some backwater desert planet, pining for your lost love, hoping that day will come? And if it ever does, do you think it will make any difference? Your husband may forgive you eventually, but he will never look at you the same way again._

"But—" Loki drops his hands in his lap. His thumbnail is ragged from his nervous chewing. He picks at it, trying to neaten the edge. "But what else can I do?"

_Come to me. Let us end this the only way it can, Prince of Lies._

Loki shivers. It's so cold in this damned room. He pulls a blanket from the floor to drape over his legs, heedless of the blood dripping from his foot and soaking into it.

"I'm afraid I still have this terrible instinct of self-preservation," he says. "You were right about me. I only think of myself. It's in my nature to keep myself alive."

 _And for what?_ The dragon snarls in his mind. _For_ **_what_** _?_

Loki does not answer, and the Nidhogg seems to disappear from his mind with a scaly sound. He's never felt so alone as in that moment. Even his enemies have left him. He is nothing now. And he's done nothing good with his life.

Well.

He chews on his nail once again.

Perhaps if one can't be good, one can at least be clever. Useful. Something more than a liar.

An idea forms.

It's an awful idea. Surely the stupidest plan ever conceived in all the Nine Realms. Loki immediately takes a liking to it. He thinks on it but a little, for if he considers it for too long, he is sure he'll lose his nerve. For once in his life, he must act.

But first he must dress.

He wraps his injured foot in a torn strip of bedsheet and then puts on every piece of his armor. Leathers from his throat to his toes. Bracers for his wrists, greaves for his shins. He tucks the dagger there in his boot. He wants it close, a reminder of his promise. Something is missing—where is it? Loki digs through the piles of a discarded life. He gives a cry of triumph when he spots the gleam of golden metal, but when he lifts his helm from the floor, he sees that one curved horn has snapped in two, leaving just a blunt bit sticking out from one side.

Broken, then. And why wouldn't it be? Everything else is. It's fitting, really. Loki places the helm on his head, not bothered by the strange, one-sided weight of it. He looks in the shattered mirror and is pleased with the picture he makes. Now that there's nothing left for him here, he must go.

Wait. His hand goes to his chest to cover his thudding heart. His girls. They will still be hiding, watching for him in their secret spot. He can't just leave them there. His bright, beautiful children, perhaps the only goodness he's ever had a hand in. If he does this thing, what will become of them?

For a moment, Loki wavers. He's not strong enough to do this; how can he walk away from his girls?

No. He has to walk away. For their sake more than anything.

Resolve floods through Loki's veins, making him calm. He stands tall in the middle of the ruined room. His mind is made up. He picks up the tesseract and a few other essentials, secreting them away in the folds of his cloak. He should hurry. Beyond the huge window, he can see the sun dipping low in the sky.

Loki casts a new invisibility spell on himself and makes his way to the room where the girls said they'd hide. On the way he crosses paths with a handful of people, but they are easily avoided. He merely flattens himself against the cool metal of the hull and lets them pass. Their faces are creased in worry or fear, but he cannot tell if they are hunting him or on the side that might defend him. It doesn't matter either way; he'll be gone soon.

The cage room, as Thorunn had called it, is pitch black when he enters. He calls out softly into the shadows and two braided heads pop out from behind some sinister machinery. Loki's throat tightens; their spellwork must have worn off, for he can see them clearly now. He's so thankful for this chance to see their dear faces.

"Pumi?" Droplaug steps out from her hiding place. "We cannot see you. Will you drop your spell?"

He considers it, but in the end tells them, "I am sorry, my darlings. I must stay unseen. I will be going soon, and I cannot waste too much of my magic." It's only half the truth; Loki is also loath to let his girls see him like this, dressed for war with a broken helm upon his head, his hair a wild tangle, and his eyes red from countless tears. "Come here, please. Follow my voice," he says, and they toddle toward him, hands outstretched, until their fingers brush against his leather armor.

"Is it safe now?" Thorunn asks. "Has Father set everything right?"

Loki swallows around the pain in his throat. "I'm afraid I'm the one who will have to set things right this time, my darlings. Listen to me closely: I love you very, very much. You'll remember that, won't you?"

"Of course we will, Pumi." Droplaug fists her hands at the hem of his jerkin. "But why are you talking like this? What is it you have to do?"

"I have to leave, Droplet." His hand settles on her sweet head and for a moment, he does not trust himself to speak without letting out a sob, so he presses his lips together and breathes.

"And when will you return?" Thorunn presses closer and wraps her arms around his leg.

"I'm so sorry, dearheart," Loki whispers. "I won't return. This is goodbye."

The girls cry out, digging their fingers into him as if they can keep him here with their little bit of strength alone.

"But you can't!"

"Don't leave us!"

"I wish I didn't have to," Loki says. "If I could explain it to you, I would try, but time is running short. Please understand that you two—" He can do this. He can be strong for their sakes. "You two sweet girls are the best thing I've ever known, and I am so proud to have been your teacher." He holds them close. "You have my books and scrolls; learn from them. Do not listen to others when they tell you to hide your magic. Keep working on your skills and keep each other safe."

"Is Father leaving too?" Droplaug wails. "Who will watch over us?"

Loki is very glad the children cannot see him, for his face is surely a portrait of pain now. He knows, though, that for as much as Thor hates him right now, his husband would never go back on his word. The girls will be his heirs, and for that, they have a great deal more protection than Loki can give them.

"Thor will stay here. I am truly sorry to have to ask this of you, my darlings, but you will need to watch over the King and protect him in my stead. You are the Princesses of Asgard; he'll need you when I'm gone."

"I don't understand," Thorunn says. She wipes her sleeve over her wet face, dashing away her tears. "Can't we go with you?"

Whatever's left of Loki's heart fragments into tiny shards. "No, precious, it's much too dangerous. Now come here." He crouches down and hugs them to him. Their damp cheeks press against his neck. He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of their hair. "I love you."

The girls say they love him, and they want him to stay, and can't he please remain just a little while longer. Loki rubs their backs and tries not to join them in weeping. Finally, he knows he must leave now or forever stay there like a statue, unable to pry himself away from their little hands. He kisses them both on their foreheads and with one last loving murmur, slips from the room unseen.

It's a simple matter to leave the ship without being noticed. Outside, the sun is just beginning to touch the horizon. Loki watches its progress as it dips between two mountain peaks. Isn't it odd, he thinks, how much can change in the course of a single day? This morning he'd awoken with Thor making love to him. Now he is utterly alone in this nightmare.

Something wet brushes his hand, and he jerks it away with a surprised yelp. The Lontras, Muce, is at his side. The creature must be able to smell him with its damp nose, even while he's invisible. It snuffles against his leg like a hound begging for attention.

Like a hound….

Well, it shouldn't be too difficult to transmute the beast. "How would you like to be a mighty steed for awhile?" he asks the Lontras while scratching it behind its ears.

Muce makes a pleased purring sound. That's good enough for Loki. He changes the Lontras into a coal-black mare with a flowing tail and wind-tossed mane. Muce stomps its new hooves a bit before coming to terms with the fact of being a horse, and when Loki grabs its mane to swing himself up astride its bare back, Muce doesn't put up a fight.

Despite everything, Loki feels a small thrill in his chest at the promise of riding toward some great adventure on horseback as he's done a thousand times in his youth. Thor will not accompany him this time, but it feels right to Loki, as if he's completed a huge circle.

He clicks his tongue to Muce and urges the beast forward with a soft kick. The horse obeys, carrying Loki toward the mountains at a good canter. As soon as they're out of sight of the ship, Loki drops his invisibility enchantment.

They travel until the sun is sliced in half at the horizon, throwing brilliant greens and purples into the Hasseean sky. Loki squeezes Muce's flanks with his legs as they crest a hill, coming to a stop. He takes a moment to admire the sunset. It's not the same as the fiery red and gold sunsets on Asgard, but it is lovely in its own way. He's glad to have seen it.

A distant rumble of thunder sets his teeth on edge. He turns on Muce's back to look in the direction they'd just come. Storm clouds are forming like grey fortresses in the sky. A thread of white lightning appears in a flash and is gone. Loki counts the seconds before he hears the thunder.

Thor is very close.

He knows in his bones that it is a storm of Thor's making, and that it heralds his coming. What could the oaf want now? Has he thought of new vitriol to shout in Loki's face?

Loki turns back around with a sigh and sees that Muce is looking at him with that big, liquid horse eye. "I know," he tells the horse. "I'll take care of it."

When Thor reaches the top of the hill, Loki is waiting there for him, standing tall and rigid in his armor and broken helm.

"Why are you chasing me, brother?" he asks. "I left the ship before sundown as you ordered."

"Not before upsetting our girls to the brink of hysteria," Thor growls. "Thorunn and Droplaug ran to me in a fit. What did you say to them? I could barely make out a word through their tears."

Loki looks away down the slope of the hill. "I only told them the truth: that I'm leaving and never coming back. Was I not permitted to say goodbye to my own children?"

"That's not what I—" Thor snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head. "You cannot just break their hearts and leave me to mend them by myself. We must discuss their care. I had thought you would take the children with you, perhaps; they prefer you anyway."

"Oh," Loki says, cutting his eyes to Thor, "so my banishment extends to them as well? You didn't make that clear earlier. I didn't think they would need to suffer for my crimes."

"Would you stop twisting my words?" Thor says, heated. "I refuse to play these games with you any longer. For once in your life, speak plainly. Will you take the girls with you, or shall they be left in my care? I love them as my own, but as King I will need to attend to so many other matters—"

"Well, you should have considered that before throwing me out on my ear," Loki snaps. "The girls cannot come where I am going. Is that plain enough for you?"

"Then at least tell me where it is you're going." Thor holds out his hands in something of a plea. "If one of the girls is hurt or has some problem with their magics that I cannot undo for them, wouldn't you want to receive word?"

Loki hesitates, his lips parting. Then, softly he says, "I would. But I'm afraid that will be impossible."

"Fucking—" Thor passes both hands over his hair back and forth in agitation. "Why must you always be so needlessly mysterious? Do you enjoy driving me mad?"

"I can honestly say it gives me no pleasure at the moment."

Thor's angry scowl shows how little he trusts that statement. He advances on Loki with a warlike stride, his hands balled into fists. "You would not be making light of this if you had heard the girls," he says. "They were beside themselves with grief. They begged me to bring you back to the ship and keep you there. They think you've hung the moons and the stars. How am I supposed to explain to them that you betrayed them, betrayed us all, with your secrets?"

"They are very intelligent children. I'm sure they will understand however it's explained to them," Loki says. "For what it's worth, I did not tell them you were the one who forced me to leave. You can keep that as your own secret if you like." He shrugs. "Or you can tell them the truth. They may hate you for it, but surely it will be worth it to know you've kept them safe from my evil influence."

"Just stop!" Thor roars. "Stop this, you miserable—" He grabs for Loki's arm as if he means to shake some sense into him.

His hand passes right through.

Thor looks up at him wildly, and then stares at his own hand. Loki—or rather, the mirage of Loki—gives him a sad smile and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, Thor," he says even as his image flickers like a lightning bug in the twilight. "I had to keep you occupied somehow."

"Why?" Thor's face is pinched with confusion. "What are you planning?"

"You have nothing to worry about. I'm going to make it right." He is nearly faded to nothing now. "I wish I could have said farewell in person but…." Loki reaches out, his ghostly hand passing through Thor's. "Goodbye, my love."

"Wait, don't—" Thor grasps at the air. "Loki!"

But the false Loki is gone. Above, the storm clouds split open and rain falls heavy on the Hasseean mountains. It falls into the eyes of the real Loki, now miles away, riding his horse at full gallop through the mountain pass and toward the plateau that calls to Loki's mind with the whisper of leathery wings.

The Nidhogg's lair is suitably desolate. It is a lonely rocky plain that Loki finds himself, red and alien. A thin stream of smoke snakes through the rainy air from behind a jagged spike of stone. Loki is sure he will find the dragon there.

He dismounts and pets a hand over his horse's brow. "You did very well considering you were new to it," he says. "Now return to your masters." He smacks his palm against the mare's rump, and it bolts back down the mountain path the way they came. Loki watches it go; the spell will wear off shortly and, with any luck, the Lontras will find its way home.

He turns toward the smoke. This is it. He takes a deep breath and walks forward, helmed head high.

"I've come, Nidhogg!" he shouts into the rain. "Show yourself!"

The ground shakes as the dragon shoots out from its nest and towers above Loki. The beast's sheer size is enough to make Loki rethink his plan. But no, he cannot falter now. He must see this through.

"The little Lying God finally appears," the Nidhogg growls. "Have you realized how right I am at last? How fortunate for us all. I cannot wait to taste your flesh." Its fanged mouth gapes obscenely.

"First we must strike a deal," Loki says.

"What have I told you?" The dragon huffs a cloud of smoke from its nostrils. "You cannot bargain with me."

"I think you'll find I can." Loki stands in the pouring rain and takes the tesseract from his cloak. Its eerie light bathes his face in cold blue as he holds it aloft. "Do you know what this is?"

The Nidhogg considers it. "Not exactly, but I can sense it is old. Perhaps older than I, and very powerful. Where did you find such a toy?"

"Nevermind where I found it." Loki touches the tesseract with his mind, feeling its near-limitless potential. It greets him like an old friend ready to go to war at his side. He asks it to create a barrier, much like the one it had formed over the Battle of New York, and it does. Its shimmering, clear cage appears over Loki's head and encases him and the dragon. The rain patters against it and runs down the barrier's curved sides in sheets of water.

"A pretty trick," the Nidhogg says, "but you are very foolish to trap yourself with a bloodthirsty dragon." It bares its fangs.

Loki holds up one finger. "Ah, don't try to eat me yet. If you do, you'll be very disappointed." He turns the tesseract over in his hands. "This toy can do so much more. It can even transport someone across the universe in the blink of an eye." He cocks his head and squints up at the Nidhogg. "You wouldn't like your most delicious feast in eons to disappear in a puff of smoke, would you? You said it yourself: there are none who would satisfy your hunger as I would."

The horrible creature slavers thick, foamy strands of spittle from its parted jaws. "Have you come just to taunt me before you make your escape to some other world?" it demands.

"Not at all. I've come to make a deal, as I've said." He holds his arms wide. "You know I speak the truth."

The Nidhogg narrows its eyes at Loki. "All right. What sort of deal?"

"You may eat me. Gnaw on my bones and break my body as you wish," Loki says, "but in return you are to never attack my ship or the people that came on it, nor are you to attack the Hasseeans again."

"You would have me starve to death after making one last meal of you?" the dragon laughs. "Impossible. I must eat again in, say, a year."

"Ah, but you went much longer without eating before. The Hasseeans said you'd nearly fallen into legend. So let's say you do not eat for the next...five hundred years?"

The dragon grunts. "One hundred years. And I get to eat you tonight with no more delay."

Loki nods. His belly rolls with fear, but he orders it to be calm. "We have an agreement."

"Say it," the Nidhogg demands. "Say it aloud word for word so I can be sure you are dealing with me honestly."

"Fair enough," Loki says, standing straighter. "I am prepared to die this night in your jaws if you promise to never attack my ship or its occupants, and to not attack any Hasseeans for at least a hundred years."

The Nidhogg regards him closely as if searching for any loophole in his words. "I swear to abide by your terms, Lying God. I must say I'm surprised. I didn't think you had it in you to sacrifice anything for others, let alone your own life."

"I'm as surprised as you are. It's strange, actually," Loki says. He struggles to keep his voice light, to stop it from wavering. "I thought perhaps once I made this decision I would feel different. Like how heroes must feel, noble and fearless." His laugh is sharp and short. "But I'm still not ready to leave."

"You fool," the Nidhogg says with something close to affection. "Did you really think that one heroic act would change you? That it could erase all of your sins and mend your broken soul?"

"No," Loki says, "I am sure it does not. I am not interested in absolving myself of those bloody deeds, if it can even be done at all." He shifts on his feet. Swallows. "I am no hero. You do not need to remind me."

"Sad little God." The dragon's sneer is wreathed in flame. "Why, then? Why sacrifice yourself?"

There is a sudden fierce thud behind him, and Loki turns to find Thor standing at the barrier, his form distorted as if seen through warped glass. Even so, his expression of panic is easy to make out. Loki stares at him, feeling a tear track down his cheek. He lets it fall.

"Loki!" Thor hammers his fist against the tesseract's impenetrable wall. "What are you doing? Get out of there!"

Thor isn't supposed to be here. One wrong word from him and the whole thing will be for naught.

"Please leave," Loki says to him. "This doesn't concern you."

"What are you talking about? That beast will eat you!"

"That is the plan," the Nidhogg says, swiveling its head back down at Loki. "Oh, but this is delicious. You didn't even tell your husband you're playing the martyr? No, I suppose he would have tried to stop you if he'd known you would bargain with me."

"Loki!" Thor is screaming now, throwing the bulk of his body against the barrier in an effort to break through. His lightning streaks across it, causing tiny spider web fractures to appear. Loki watches the cracks above his head with wide eyes. He's out of time.

"Let us finish this," he tells the Nidhogg. "If I could have just one moment to prepare myself?"

"Fine." The dragon licks its reptilian lips with its forked tongue. "Pray to whatever you believe in before I end your strange little life."

Loki turns his back on the Nidhogg, breathing heavily as he faces Thor. They lock gazes through the glassy barrier. What can Loki say in this moment? There aren't any words. Perhaps his expression says all he needs to, for Thor crumples to his knees as he sees it.

"No," Thor says.

Loki places the tesseract on the ground and raises a finger to his lips. Please, he thinks silently, do not say anything. Thor quiets, his mouth open and eye wide. Loki swallows and nods his thanks.

Then he reaches carefully into his cloak and removes a small bottle of purple liquid.

Thor stares at the thing in his hands and seems to realize what Loki means to do all in an instant. He pounds on the barrier with both fists, roaring like an untamed animal, but he does not speak. Whether it's because he cannot speak or knows he should not, Loki cannot tell.

Surreptitiously so the dragon does not see, Loki uncorks the bottle of poison and lifts it to his lips. It burns his mouth and throat as he swallows it, but he forces himself not to gag. When he's consumed every drop, he secrets the bottle away in his sleeve and turns to face the Nidhogg, leaving Thor to beat at the barrier.

"It's time," the dragon says. "Do you have any last words?"

The poison is already eating away at him, making it difficult to remain upright. Loki stands as tall as he is able and tips his chin up toward the beast. In this, he does not hesitate.

"For Asgard."

The Nidhogg is upon him in an instant, attacking from his right flank, fangs sinking into him like a hundred sharp knives. Loki had thought nothing could hurt as much as the poison in his veins, but he finds he was mistaken. The pain of the dragon's teeth biting into him over and over again is torture, but Loki is glad for each drop of blood that pours from his body into the beast's hungry mouth.

He can still hear Thor screaming. Or perhaps he is the one screaming, if his throat is still able to scream. He's not sure. Everything is going very dark. Each thought could be his last, and Loki panics as he tries to make it a good one. He thinks of the way Thor looked in the mornings in their shared quarters, watching him from across a pillow. He thinks of his mother's warm embrace. His thinks of his girls and how their hair felt between his fingers.

Has he bled enough? He doesn't want to die before he's sure the Nidhogg will too, but the urge to close his eyes is overpowering. He's so very tired, and it hurts so much. His skin tears apart as he holds on.

Teeth scrape against his bones as they leave him. He falls to the ground in a broken, bloody heap. Above him, the dragon chokes and sputters.

"What is this?" the Nidhogg cries. "What have you done to me!?" It writhes in its death throes, tail and legs smashing against the barrier in a bid for freedom.

"Haven't you heard?" Loki laughs, blood misting from his lips. "I am nothing but poison."

With the last of its strength, the dragon lets loose a terrible scream and swipes at him. One of its claws pierces Loki's chest through and through before withdrawing. Oh, Loki thinks with a gasp, that's the end. He holds in his mind a memory of a peaceful clearing with soft green grass and a bubbling brook. He keeps it in his thoughts until everything fades away and he thinks of nothing any longer.

And with that, Loki, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief, the Lying Trickster, dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end! There is more, and it is coming very soon. If you are reading this on the day it posted, 3 days max, promise. Here is a FAQ:
> 
> Q. What is wrong with you?  
> A. Depression, anxiety, trauma, and just who I am as a person
> 
> Q. Why are you doing this?  
> A. Buddy, I wish I wasn't.
> 
> Q. Are you available for hire to write serialized scifi/fantasy novels with lots of crying and genderfluid space disasters?  
> A. Yes, I think if you paid me this exercise in pain would all make a lot more sense to be honest.


	18. Chapter 18

When Thor finally succeeds in breaking past the tesseract's forcefield, the Nidhogg is already dead on the ground, its tongue lolling from its smoking mouth. Beside it lays Loki, torn and bloody, unmoving. It is a macabre tableau somehow made more surreal by the rain falling steadily from the darkening skies.

Thor goes to Loki and kneels beside him. He surveys the damage; it's so truly awful, he's not sure where to begin. He pulls his red half-cloak from his shoulders and carefully drapes it over his husband's slack body. Blood begins to seep through it, dark patches that grow and merge as Thor watches.

"All right," Thor says in a shaking voice. "You've made your point. Now come back."

The rain falls harder as Thor kneels there, waiting. Loki does not stir.

"This is getting tiresome. Come on. Wake up." Thor pats Loki's pale cheek with his hand. "I won't be fooled again."

Tendrils of blood snake down Loki's face as the rain washes it away. He wipes some of the blood away with his thumb and feels his jaw tick. How long he remains there, he isn't sure. It's long enough to feel stiff in his joints by the time a shadow falls across Loki. Thor looks up to find Heimdall standing there, his golden eyes wet with tears.

"I saw it happen," the old guard says. "I am so sorry, my King."

Thor shakes his head, flinging rainwater. "He is not gone," he says firmly. "He has done this before, played at death. This is just another ruse to spite me."

"Your Majesty, you know I see everything," Heimdall says. Thor has known the man all his life but has never heard him speak in such a gentle tone. "I saw his spirit leave his body. Loki is dead. This is no trick."

Thor looks down at the body of his husband. A small sound tries to escape his lips but he bites it back. No. This is not real. None of this is possible.

"Thor." Heimdall kneels at Loki's other side so that he might look Thor in the eye. "We cannot leave him out here in the elements. Let us take him home."

He doesn't understand. "H—" Thor's voice cracks. "Home?"

"To the ship," Heimdall says. "He deserves a proper funeral."

Thor buckles over Loki's limp form. Is he weeping or is it just rain? His eye burns with whatever it is. His breath comes in great, huge lungfuls but he cannot seem to get enough air. He's hot all over, anger building anew in his chest, a weight that he must unleash before it suffocates him.

Thor holds out his hand. "Give me your sword," he tells Heimdall. The watcher hesitates long enough to test Thor's patience. "Your sword! Now!"

"Of course." He stands to offer Thor the hilt of his weapon. Thor stands and takes it.

"I'll be back in a moment," he says, and stalks over to where the dragon's corpse lays on the rain-slick rocks. He stands astride its long neck right where it meets the head. He howls, swinging the sword down into the scaly flesh. It is hard work, cutting through those armored scales, but Thor's rage is otherworldly and he eventually manages to hack the Nidhogg's wedge of a head from its body. He hooks his fingers under one of the head's scales and drags it over to Heimdall, dumping it at his feet.

"Carry this back to the ship for me," he says. "I want everyone to see that the beast has been defeated, and to know who has done it."

Heimdall tilts his head and accepts his blood-spattered sword back from Thor. "As my King commands." Then, squinting at the gore streaked across Thor's arms and chest, he says, "Take care. Their blood might still hold some of the deadly poison."

"If it kills me, so be it," Thor says, and picks up Loki's body still wrapped in his cloak. He is so light cradled in Thor's arms, barely weighing anything. Thor carries him away from the scene of destruction, the rain falling in a light mist now.

"And these, sire?" Heimdall calls.

Thor glances back over his shoulder to see Heimdall holding up the tesseract and Loki's broken, dirt-streaked helm, one in each hand. He'd watched that helm fall from Loki's head and roll along the ground as the dragon devoured him. The tesseract was the last thing Loki had touched before welcoming death. He doesn't ever want to see them again.

"Bring them," he says, "and lock them away. Right now I cannot—" His words stick in his throat like pins.

"It is done, my King," the watcher says with a small bow.

Thor nods at him in thanks and carries Loki down the mountain. Heimdall is right behind him with his cloak stuffed full of head, helm, and tesseract, held as a bundle over his shoulder.

By the time they reach the ship, night has well and truly fallen. Thor finds his footing carefully in the dark, sinking up to his ankles in muck, the burden of Loki's body now much heavier in his arms. He sees a light up ahead: the ship's cargo bay is open and illuminated, filled with the shapes of people watching his approach. They must have witnessed Heimdall's exit and gathered there to await news. Now they are silent, wide-eyed, staring at Loki as Thor carries him up the gangway.

One brave soul speaks up. "Is the Prince dead by your hand, Your Majesty?"

"No." Thor's voice is raw from his screams and sobs. "Though he may as well be." He walks forward and the crowd parts for him. He can hear Heimdall at his back, tossing the dragon's head to the floor with a sickening thump.

"Good people," Heimdall says, "let me tell you what I saw tonight. Prince Loki has died, having sacrificed himself to slay this creature."

There is more—it's a very long story—but Thor keeps walking and lets Heimdall's voice fade away behind him. Let those who don't yet know it listen. He cannot stand to relive it himself.

He carries Loki to the Great Hall, not knowing why exactly, but operating on foggy instinct. He is almost to his makeshift throne when a hand closes over his elbow. Thor blinks at the woman beside him in her white robes, his slow mind recognizing her as the healer Bridget. There are tears in her eyes, but she dabs them away.

"Shall we lay him out here, sire?" she asks. "That way, everyone might pay their respects."

"Yes, I—" He works his tongue in his dry mouth. "Apologies. Yes, let us do that. How should—?"

"We will see to it," says Bridget, and motions to a knot of healers standing some distance away. In no time, they bring a cot, which they position at the head of the Great Hall in front of the steps to the throne.

Thor watches them and wonders what he is to do next. His brain isn't working properly, like a song where every other note has been passed over. He looks down at Loki, at that pale, slack face, and realizes all over again that this isn't some terrible dream; Loki is dead, and he's left Thor alone to face the consequences.

"Your Majesty?"

He jerks his head up and sees the healers have finished arranging the little cot and are waiting for him to...do something.

"Yes?" he says.

Bridget gestures to the cot. "You may place the body here."

It is not a body, he wants to tell her. It is his husband, his brother, his sister, his wife. This is not some object of no importance. This is Loki, Thor's everything, and he cannot do this, he will not. Tears are falling from his single eye without any sign of stopping. What a fool he's been.

"I'm sorry," he says, clutching Loki tighter in his arms. "I can't let him go."

"It's all right." Bridget places her hand at Thor's elbow and leads him forward like he's a blind man. "I will help you."

With the healers' assistance, Thor lowers Loki's body onto the cot. Blood has soaked through Thor's red cape and it drips in grotesque rubies from the cot to the metal floor below. Still Thor cannot take his hands from Loki, touching his face and tracing the line of his jaw. His black hair is a frenzied tangle, and Thor combs it away from his brow as best he can with clumsy, bloodstained fingers.

"He looks a mess," Thor says with a small, hysterical laugh. "He would hate to be seen like this."

"We will clean him and prepare him to be viewed," Bridget assures. She tugs at Thor's shoulder. "Come, sire. You must wash yourself as well. You're covered in blood."

"I cannot leave him." Thor finds Loki's hand in the gore-soaked folds of his cloak and holds it in both his own. "What if he—?" He clamps his mouth shut. He'd nearly said _what if he wakes up and I'm not here?_

The healers look upon him with horrible pity. Bridget gives him a sad smile and tugs again, harder. "Please, Your Majesty. Let us work now."

Thor knows she's right, that he cannot remain here forever, but he still is reluctant to be pulled away. He's like a hound with no scent to follow, directionless and confused, chasing his own tail.

Bridget leads him away with a gentle touch and pushes him toward the door. She mercifully gives him orders, as he cannot command himself. "First you must wash, then dress yourself in fresh clothing. If you can, have a bite to eat. You must keep up your strength. When you've done all that, you can come back here."

"Thank you," Thor says. He nearly dashes an arm across his face to dry his tears, but he notices the blood smears on his skin which prevent him from doing so. "I'm sorry, Lady Bridget, I'm useless right now."

"No need to apologize." She produces a kerchief from her pocket and hands it to him. "Now go. I'll bar the door so no one will see him before he's ready."

That brings a fresh round of tears to Thor's eye, but he merely nods and leaves before he can make an even bigger spectacle of himself in front of the healers. He walks in the direction of the communal wash room, and he must wash himself and dispose of his bloody clothing, for the next thing he knows he's back in his room looking in the rubble for something clean to wear. How did he lose track of time so thoroughly? He would think strange magics were at work, but the only person aboard the ship with that level of skill was Loki, and he will never cast a spell again.

Thor sits down heavily on the bed. Loki will never again laugh or argue or touch him or dance or do anything. Thor has twice before grieved his brother, but mourning his husband's death is a new, nightmarish experience. And Thor is the cause. He'd pushed Loki away, and this is the result.

If only Loki hadn't been intractable to the last, if he had listened to Thor and gone to some faraway place, none of this would have happened. Some distance would have allowed them both to come to terms with everything. In time, perhaps, when tempers had finally cooled— Thor groans and holds his head in his hands. But why had he said such horrible things? What had possessed Thor to name Loki a coward, and worse? It was as if, being hurt so cruelly, Thor had taken it as a challenge to respond in an even crueler fashion. He should have known better. He should have _been_ better.

If he were less of a coward himself, Thor thinks he would join Loki in death this very moment, but he doubts he would be welcome there. Living is a more painful punishment anyway, so perhaps it is fitting that he still breathes.

He stares at the clothes in his lap: soft black breeches and a grey tunic. Are these even his clothes, or were they Loki's? He can't remember. Only when he puts them on and sees that they fit does he think they might be his. They seem to smell of Loki, but then again, so does everything in their quarters. Thor stands in the middle of the floor and turns in a slow circle. He doesn't know what he did with his boots. He needs them; he can't attend a funeral in bare feet. The very idea would make Loki recoil if he were here.

A soft knock comes to the door. Thor blinks at it. He has no idea who it might be, and he fears opening it and finding that somehow more awful news has come. Perhaps he can just stay in this room and never leave. At least then the problem of his missing boots would be moot.

The knock sounds again. Thor shakes himself from his wandering thoughts and answers the door. Thorunn and Droplaug stand there in their little yellow and blue dresses. Thor's heart sinks. He'd been so preoccupied with his self-flagellation, he'd nearly forgotten the children. Another failing to place alongside all the others.

"Father," says Thorunn, "what's happened? We were in bed where you bade us rest, but we heard such a commotion that we couldn't sleep any longer."

"No one will tell us a thing." Droplaug wrings her slim hands. "The adults are too busy to explain. But so many are crying, and some are arguing, and the things we've overheard—"

"Where is Pumi?" Thorunn interrupts. "Did you find him? Has he returned to the ship with you?"

Thor closes his eye for a moment and swallows down the sting in his throat. How is he to break the news to these innocent children? He would give anything to be able to speak to Loki for just a moment, to ask for guidance in what to say.

"Come in, girls." He moves aside and nods toward the bed. "Sit down. I need to tell you something."

Thor shuts the door as the children take their seats. They look up at him with such trusting, open eyes. Thor hates himself anew for being the one who will destroy their fragile little world, but he cannot dwell too much on his own pain. The girls—and everyone on the ship—need him to be strong. He crouches on the floor in front of them so he is not looming. His jaw works as he thinks over his words.

It would be worse to skirt around the thing, he decides, so he tries to speak plainly. "I did find Loki," he says, "but I was too late. I'm very sorry, girls. He's been killed."

Thorunn's face creases in confusion. She does not move or speak. At her side, her sister Droplaug goes even more pale.

"What?" asks Droplaug. "But—? How?" Her hand searches for Thorunn's on the bed between them, and she clasps it tightly.

Thor draws his thumb and forefinger down his jaw as he thinks of how to respond. "It was the dragon that has threatened us and this planet. Loki traded his life for our safety, but it was a trick. He poisoned himself and in turn poisoned the Nidhogg. I'm very sorry," he says again. "I couldn't stop it."

"That doesn't make any sense." Droplaug is crying now, wiping at her wet face with the cuff of her sleeve. "Why would Pumi do such a thing? I don't understand. I don't understand any of it."

Thorunn at last speaks, and her voice is small. "He would never choose to leave us. Something must have forced him into it."

Thor hesitates. He wishes he could tell his little namesake that it's a mystery, and they'll never know why things have happened as they did, and that she should content herself with knowing that Loki was their protector in the end. But there have been enough lies, and so Thor steels himself for what he is about to say.

"It was me." He covers his mouth with his hand. He cannot— No, he must get the words out. "I discovered your Pumi had hidden something very important from me. I was angry. We argued." Thor rubs his palms together between his knees. He can still feel the blood on them, slick and terrible. "I told him he had to leave. I'm the one who drove him away. He didn't want to go, but I didn't give him a choice. And then…." He trails off, unable to recount every horrific detail.  

Droplaug's lip trembles. "No," she whispers.

"So this is all your fault," Thorunn says. Her nostrils flare. The air around her becomes charged with a yellowish energy. The hairs on the back of Thor's neck stand on end.

Thor holds his hands up. He remembers when Loki had been Thorunn's age and had at times of high emotion lost control of some powerful spell. He'll never forgive himself if Thorunn is hurt. "My darling, please calm yourself."

"You don't get to call us that," the girl seethes, and before Thor can react, she is on her feet. A huge golden eagle is at her back, wings spread, talons at the ready, screeching its fury at Thor. Thor loses his balance and tumbles backward onto the floor as Thorunn advances. The child is sobbing through bared teeth. "You don't get to call us anything! He's dead because of you."

Thor sits up and sees the eagle is preparing to attack. His arm raises to protect his face on instinct, but he lowers it to his side after a moment. His head hangs low. "I know. You're right," he says. "I'm sorry." He squeezes his eye shut and waits for the blow to come.

Droplaug surges to her feet and grabs her sister by the arm. "Thorunn, stop! You mustn't!" She shoots a frantic glance at Thor. "He will send us away too."

Thorunn's eagle fades to nothing as she looks down at Thor, terror welling in her golden eyes. She believes he would, Thor realizes, and the fact hits him harder than any magic ever could.

"No, no, no," he says, crawling to them. "I would never. Please don't think such a thing. There's nothing you could do to make me send you away."

"How can you say that when you've sent away Master Loki?" Thorunn asks. Tears stream down her face.

"I don't know. You'll have to trust me, I suppose. I know I don't deserve it but—" Thor opens his arms wide. "You're all I have left of him. If you hate me, I'll understand, but I cannot stop being a Father to you both. I love you and I'm sorry—"

Thorunn falls, sobbing, onto his shoulder. Droplaug follows a moment later, her arms around her sister and Thor's neck.

"Pumi told us we would need to protect you for him, Father," she murmurs against his chest. "I think perhaps instead we might all need to protect each other."

"Such a wise child." Thor kisses the top of her head through his tears. He can see the sort of Queen she might be one day, and his heart breaks knowing Loki won't be there to witness it.

Thorunn pulls away to wipe her face. She can't seem to look at Thor. "I'm still so angry. I have no place to put it."

"If it helps, put it on me," Thor says, trying to catch her eye. "You have my temper, little Thorunn. Don't let it burn away at you as I've done."

The girl nods while biting her lip. "I might need to scream at you some more later. Right now, though, I'm just too sad to scream."

Thor folds her into his embrace once more, then looks over the top of their heads into the middle distance. "I know."

They stay tangled up in each other's arms for a long while. Droplaug is the first to pry herself away, scrubbing a hand over her red face. "Is there to be a funeral?" she asks. "Can we see him?"

"Are you certain you want to?" Thor hesitates. "He— His body is being laid out in the Great Hall. But perhaps you are too young to witness such a thing." When did he see his first body? He can't recall exactly, but he's sure he attended funerals of dignitaries as a child. But does that mean Thorunn and Droplaug should be allowed to do the same, or should he shield them from it? He's completely lost at sea. If Loki were here, he'd know what to do.

Droplaug makes the decision for him. "If I do not see him, I won't believe it's real. We must say goodbye to him, Father."

"All right." Thor thinks through the instructions that Bridget had given him. He doesn't think he can stomach any food at the moment, so he should return to the Great Hall anyway. "Let us go together."

Thorunn wrinkles her nose at him, eyeing his drab tunic. "Is that really what you're wearing to the funeral?"

Truly his husband's daughter. "Our— My things are in such disarray, I had trouble finding anything more suitable." He stands and looks at his bare feet, then cocks his head to the side. There's blood on the carpet. When did that…?

"Father?" Droplaug is tugging on the hem of his tunic. Thor realizes she must have been trying to get his attention for some time. 

"Yes?"

"I said, do you want your boots?"

"I do, but I cannot remember where I left them."

"They were sitting just outside the door in the hall." Droplaug points. "I saw them when we came in."

"Ah." Thor shakes his head. When he'd lived in the palace on Asgard, he and Loki would leave their boots in the hall to be cleaned by the night servants. He really must have been sleep-walking; he hasn't had a servant clean his boots in ages. He retrieves them and pulls them on. Dried mud still clings to them, but they're the best he can do. "Thank you, I had thought them lost."

The girls find a few cloaks in the debris, one lined in electric yellow and another of emerald green. They fold them until they're short enough to drape about their small frames. Thorunn presses her nose to the fabric at her shoulder and breathes deeply, catching Thor's eye when she's finished. They do not need to speak of it, Loki's scent. Thor merely nods and puts a hand on the girl's back to guide her toward the door, telling her and her sister to mind the broken glass that still litters the ground.

When they arrive in the Great Hall, it is already filled with Asgardians and their alien compatriots. The hushed murmurs of the crowd silence completely when the people spot Thor in the doorway. He swallows, wondering what he's meant to do. He feels Droplaug slip her little hand in his, and after a moment, Thorunn takes his other hand. They look up at him with determined furrows on their brows.

Right, Thor thinks. This isn't about him, not any longer. He walks with the children, hand in hand, through the crowd toward the dais. As the mourners step aside for him, he catches sight of the cot where Loki's body has been placed. It's piled high with Hasseean flowers. The bright blooms spill over onto the floor, surrounding Loki in a perfumed halo. Loki's face is the lone slash of pale white among the mound of color. His sleek black hair has been brushed back from his face. The blood has been cleaned away, for which Thor is thankful, and the flowers must cover the tang of it in the air.

The healers have done good work. He catches the eye of Bridget, standing in her white robes near the head of the cot, and inclines his head in thanks.

He leads the girls to the body and gives them a moment to have Loki to themselves. They touch his face and cry over him, whispering things that Thor does not try to make out. The words are not for him. He stands with his hands clasped before him, head bowed, ignoring the weight of the crowd's eyes on the back of his neck. What must they think of their King, who has acted so rashly with such dire results?

When at last the girls have finished, they turn to Thor with tear-streaked faces. He gestures Bridget over and asks her in a low voice, "Could you see the children to their beds? If you have some sort of tonic that might make them sleep through the night—"

"I will take care of them, my King," she says.

"Thank you." He clasps her hand in his. "I owe you a debt that I can never repay."

"Think nothing of it, sire." Bridget gives his hand a squeeze before shepherding the girls away to their room for the night. Thor watches them go with a heavy heart.

This next part he must face alone.

It is a slow parade of faces: people whose names he does not remember, people he's only met in passing, some people he's known since he was a boy. They all file past him and murmur condolences before paying their respects before the body. There is Korg and Heimdall and Banner and others as well. Each tells him something, and he must respond in kind, but he could not tell anyone what had been said. It's all just a blur.

There are Hasseeans, too. Some appear to be new shipmates of his, and they speak of Loki as a great friend and hero. Yes, Thor agrees, he certainly is. Was? Thor's head reels. More Hasseeans arrive carrying armloads of fresh flowers, which they heap upon the floor all around the cot. Salerno is among them, and they approach Thor with a solemn bow. His little liaison wipes at their dewy eyes.

"The Prince will be forever enshrined in our histories," they tell Thor, "though that is cold comfort for you, I'm sure. We're so very sorry for what has happened. If we hadn't tasked you with this dangerous thing—"

"The fault is not yours or your people's, Sal," Thor says. He knows very well where the fault lies. A cold wave of hatred for himself washes over him once more.

Salerno says some other things, practicalities about the installation of the new technology, more assurances that Loki will never be forgotten. Thor accepts everything with a nod of his head. He can't seem to concentrate on anything like he should.

Sometime afterward, a stout old man approaches with a scowl on his face. Thor recognizes him as Bjorn, the one who'd slunk up to Thor all those days ago and told him that Loki and the children were plotting to murder him. Well, he thinks with some measure of charity, we are all fools in some fashion.

"Your Majesty," says the old man, "is all this pomp really necessary? It is a sad occasion, to be sure; none of us wanted to see it end like this. But what's done is done. Should we not move forward and forget the past? It is what your wise Father would have done."

"My King," says a healer at Thor's elbow. Where she'd come from, Thor has no idea. She stands on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "This is the man who stirred up dissent against the Prince."

"Is it?" Thor peers at the old man before him. He'd only heard the most cursory report of the thing before the children had found him and begged him to go find Loki in the wilderness, but he knows enough to be furious at Bjorn. "Was it you, then, that suggested we throw my husband, Advisor to the King, into the jaws of the dragon?"

"Well." Bjorn waggles his white head. "Things were said on both sides."

Thor breathes. Then breathes again. Lightning crackles beneath his skin, begging to be unleashed upon this horrible little man, this ridiculous nobody. Thor would love nothing more than to split his skull open and see what emptiness must lie there. This failed warrior, aged beyond his usefulness and feeble in his spirit, should not be allowed to breathe when Loki does not.

But Loki's blood is not on this man's hands. It is on Thor's. And killing Bjorn, as odious as he is, would not change that. It would only serve to make Thor feel righteous, a feeling for which he has no claim.

"Are you married, Bjorn?" he asks at last.

"What?" The man blinks. "Ah, no, sire. I am not."

"I see. Well. I am trying," Thor says, "to be a better and more merciful King than my Father was. Men like you make that difficult. You may dislike these new ways; that is your right. But tonight?" He points to Loki, dead among the flowers, and leans in to speak in a low voice. "Tonight you will pay your respects to your Prince. Otherwise, you are welcome to leave my ship. I should warn you, though." He shrugs as he stands straighter. "This is not the most comfortable planet for an unmarried man."

Bjorn clicks his tongue and mutters under his breath, but in the end he approaches the makeshift altar and bows to Loki. Thor watches this, feeling drained. Has he done the right thing? All his decisions are now tinged with self-doubt.

"You should have thrown him in the brig to rot. Or at least cut off a few of his fingers. Just to show everyone what's what."

Thor looks to his side to find the Valkyrie there, her arms across her chest and several bottles clinking in a satchel at her hip.

"I didn't think you'd come," Thor says.

"Yeah, I'm not big on funerals." She looks around the Hall. "The worst part's almost over, though."

Thor realizes she's right. Most of the mourners have left. There's only a trickle of stragglers filing past Loki's body, and these people seem to sense it's time to leave Thor to his private thoughts, for they do not approach and only bow to him before moving on. Soon the Great Hall is entirely empty, save for himself and the Valkyrie.

"You plan on sitting vigil all night?" she asks, taking a bottle from her bag and yanking the stopper from its neck.

"I do." As Loki's sole grown family member, he'll need to stay with the body until sunrise. It's a tradition, an old one, and perhaps one which Loki would roll his eyes at, but Thor feels the need to be close to him in these last moments. When dawn comes, the body will be burned on a pyre. That, too, is tradition but also pragmatic enough that Thor thinks Loki would approve. He might even find it amusing, to be given a warrior's funeral.

The Valkyrie nods. "Should we sit, then?" She takes a swig of her drink.

Thor looks at her quizzically. "We?"

"Mm." Her mouth is full, so she tips her chin in the direction of the steps behind Loki's body before walking towards them without waiting for Thor.

"What are you—?" Thor follows in a rush. "I can sit vigil by myself. There's no need for you to join me."

"I know," says the Valkyrie. She seats herself on the second step and looks up at Thor. "But here I am. If you want me to leave, I will. I just don't think you should be left alone after losing someone like that." Her eyes dart along the floor, then she busies herself with emptying her satchel of its bottles. They line the lowest step like a set of shiny jewels.

Thor swallows hard. He's not sure how his friend and ally could ever know how he feels, but it's good to know someone is willing to try. He takes a seat on the step beside her and nods at her collection of liquor.

"I'm afraid I don't much feel like getting drunk right now."

"That's fine. It's not for you," she says, and gets back to work on finishing her first bottle.

Thor manages a half-smile. Some things, at least, don't change. His gaze falls on Loki, laying resplendent in wreaths of blossom, and his face falls. It still doesn't seem real, Loki's death. And it doesn't seem like he'll ever forgive himself for his part in it. He reaches out a hand to rearrange a few of the flowers around Loki's face, brushing his cold cheek with his knuckles before he withdraws.

The Valkyrie watches all this but says nothing. She merely takes her bottle in hand and upends it, spilling a dram on the floor. Thor thinks Loki would appreciate that, so he gestures for the bottle and pours out a measure himself. He passes the liquor back to the Valkyrie, and together they sit for a long time in the gloomy light of the Hall, he thinking, she drinking.

"Did you hear from Heimdall what happened? All of it?" Thor asks at last.

The Valkyrie nods and opens a new bottle. "It's easy to blame yourself," she says. "To go over it in your head again and again, like, how could I have done things differently? What if I hadn't said that or done this?" She draws a circle in the air beside her ear. "It's harder to come to terms with the truth. And the truth is, Loki made his own decisions, just like you did."

"You don't understand. I pushed him into his decision." Thor fists his hands together and rests his chin on them. He contemplates the quiet, still body in front of him. "I told him he'd always been selfish and always would be. So what does he do? Goes as far as he has to just to prove me wrong."

The Valkyrie tips her head to the side in acknowledgement. "He did love proving you wrong."

Thor shakes his head and laughs. Once he begins, he cannot stop. He thinks of how thoroughly Loki has won their final argument, and it is so morbidly hilarious that he laughs until his belly hurts. It's not until he feels the Valkyrie's arm drape across his shoulders that he realizes he's also crying, and he cannot stop that either.

"Thank you." He sniffs against the her armored shoulder once the worst of it has passed. "I'm not sure I could have let anyone else see me like this."

"I'm honored, Your Majesty," she says, and for once, Thor can tell she's not being sarcastic. She thumps him on the back and releases him from her one-armed embrace. They sit again in silence, watching over Loki as the night lengthens.

It is very late when Thor speaks again. "How I am supposed to continue on without him?" he murmurs. "The last time I thought him dead, it nearly broke me." He presses his fingertips to his tired eye. "I can't break this time. The girls, and our people, and everyone on this ship—they need me to lead them. But how can I when I've failed him so utterly?"

A snore is his only answer. Thor frowns and looks over at the Valkyrie. She's sprawled on the steps, a half-empty bottle still clutched in her hand, head tipped back, mouth open as she sleeps. Well, at least one of them will get some rest tonight.

He turns back to the corpse in its bed of flowers. In a way, he is thankful for this chance to say goodbye to Loki without any witnesses. He stands on numb legs and finds Loki's hands, folded among the flowers, so that he can hold them in his own.

"I pray you rest easy, Loki. The girls will want for nothing, I swear it, especially not my affection. I will try to raise them as best I can, though I am not sure I am equal to the task. But I will keep you housed in my heart as I promised, and hope you lend me some of your strength." He bends to press a kiss to Loki's cool, dry lips. "Until we meet again in Valhalla, my love," he says. "Save me a seat beside you. I will have much to say, if you are willing to listen to my apology."

He notices a glint of metal among the petals heaped upon Loki's chest. He looks closer and sees it is the dagger etched with Loki's own wedding vows. Loki must have had it with him when he sought death, and one of the healers must have arranged it with the body.

For a moment, Thor thinks to take it. He craves a memento, some reminder of his love's fierce heart. But the dagger isn't his any longer. He does not deserve it. It should be burned with Loki on his funeral pyre. He touches the thin bracelet of braided hair still on his wrist. There had been no time after their last meeting to cut the thing off, and now he is absurdly glad. He will wear this lock of Loki's hair until it crumbles to dust. After that, he will need to remember his husband in other ways.

"I am so sorry," Thor says to the empty vessel of Loki's body. "I wish—"

A distant shout in the corridor and the thud of boots interrupts him. Thor listens as the noise gets louder, closer, with several voices now raised in argument. Who would dare disrupt his vigil? Do they not realize he is in mourning? He strides to the door and flings open its twin panels, ready to chastise the people responsible.

What he finds is a strange scene: all are frozen and staring at him, a handful of the Valkyrie's apprentices and Heimdall, their weapons drawn, surrounding someone in a glittery gold robe. Thor squints into the dark hall. Is that—?

"Grandmaster," he growls. "What are you doing here?"

"Okay, uh, listen." The ridiculous man keeps both hands in the air, his kohl-lined eyes scanning each face until he finds Thor's. "I know, I know. This is a very solemn occasion. I heard what happened, and I'm here to help."

"You? Help?" Thor is on him in an instant, his hand about his throat. He has kept his rage in check all night as best he can, but this cannot be tolerated. His husband lies dead in the next room and this tawdry dictator comes to taunt him? "I told you, you were not to step foot on my ship," he seethes. "You are not welcome. Especially not now."

"Apologies, sire! His lady bodyguard has been captured outside by the rest of our number, but he slipped by us," says an apprentice. "He's very fast and very strong."

"Ooh, thank you." The Grandmaster grins at the girl before turning back to Thor with a grimace. "'I had to come, okay? I couldn't just do nothing. Complete honesty, cards on the table: I liked Loki. He reminds me of myself when I was younger."

Thor gives him a hard shake by the neck. "You will not speak ill of the dead before me."

"It was a compliment! But fine. My point is, I'm here as a force for good. Weird, I know, but I was serious about that turning-over-a-new-leaf stuff. Don't know if Loki mentioned it to you, but I have this brother—"

"Get to your point," Thor says.

The Grandmaster licks his lips. "All right. Let's put it like this, Lord of Thunder: do you want him back or not?"

The breath leave Thor's body. Everything around him dims in his vision. He stares at the Grandmaster's painted face, trying to process the question.

"More than anything," he finally says.

"If that's the case," the Grandmaster taps a hand against the one that Thor holds to his throat, "you should really put me down and listen to what I have to say."

"Your Majesty, what if he's lying?" an apprentice says. "This could be a trap."

"Heimdall?" Thor asks.

The old watcher shakes his head. "I cannot see what lives inside a person's heart. All I know is this celestial made his way here as soon as he heard the news of the Prince's death."

The Grandmaster holds his lanky arms wide. "Sometimes you just gotta trust."

Thor does not trust him at all, but the hope, however slim, of Loki coming back to him is enough to make him release his hold on the Grandmaster's throat. The Grandmaster flicks invisible dust from his robe before giving him a smile.

"Okay. Great. Let's go."

"Your Majesty?" Heimdall and the apprentices are still clutching their weapons. "Shall we escort you?"

Thor waves them away. "Go back to your posts. If our guest causes any trouble, I will handle it." And with that, he takes the Grandmaster by the arm and none too gently leads him into the Great Hall, hissing in his ear as they go. "I swear, if you are playing some game here—"

"No games, not this time. Is it so hard to believe I'm trying to do something nice?"

"Yes."

The Grandmaster wags a finger at him. "All right, fair. I'll give you that." He breaks free of Thor's grasp rather easily and fairly floats over to the cot that holds Loki's body. "Whoa, got a floral theme going here. Nice, classic." He reaches a garishly manicured hand toward Loki's face, but Thor is between them in an instant.

"You will not touch him," he says. It's not just jealousy of his husband's former lover that drives him; he also still fears some kind of base trickery.

"Well, that's going to make this really difficult. Like, impossible," the Grandmaster says with a hand on his hip.

Their raised voices must be enough to rouse the Valkyrie, for her tousled head pops up from behind the cot. She groans and squints one eye at them. "Is it time to light the funeral pyre already? And who invited him?"

"Light the—? You're going to burn him up?" The Grandmaster wrings his hands, looking between them both. "Oh, I don't like that. So horrible. Ashy."

"You literally melted people to death on Sakaar. That was pretty horrible," the Valkyrie points out. She gets to her feet, stumbling just a little. "And anyway, it's traditional for warriors."

"Okay, yes, I did do some melting," says the Grandmaster. "And I was very good at it. But I'm here to do something different. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Unmelting?" Thor frowns.

"No. That's not a thing. I mean the opposite of killing. I am going to bring Loki," he gives a flourish with his hands, "back to life."

The Valkyrie snorts and turns to Thor. "You're not seriously listening to this lunatic, are you, sire?"

Said lunatic gives her a hurt look. "You don't think I can do it?"

"I've never seen you do it, not in all the time I spent on Sakaar," she says. "Why are you just mentioning it now?"

"Well, I haven't done it in awhile, that is true. I got bored with the power of lifegiving a few millennia ago, right around the time I got really into melting and violence and death in general. So, yeah, I may be a little rusty." He makes a face. "In fact, I'm not even sure it will work. I've never brought one of his kind back from the dead. But hey! What have you got to lose, am I right? He can't get any deader."

Thor thinks about this before saying, "If you do this and Loki lives again, would he be changed at all? Will he be the same person he was before?" The stories of Thor's youth, cautionary tales about raising the dead, ring through his head like a bell tolling.

"Loki would be one hundred percent Loki, nothing added, nothing taken away. He might be a little tired at first, of course. I'm told dying takes a lot out of you. But a month or so of recuperation—maybe less; he's a tough one—and he'll be right as rain," the Grandmaster assures. He holds a finger up in the air as if remembering something. "However, if I do this and it works, I would ask you for one teeny tiny favor."

Thor is nodding before he's even done speaking. "I will give you and your bodyguard safe passage off this planet. If this works."

Honestly, if this works, Thor would cut off his right arm if the Grandmaster asked for it.

The promise of a ride off-world appears to be enough, though. The Grandmaster grins and claps his hands. "Deal. Now let me see what I can do here." He flicks his fingers in Loki's direction. "May I? I seem to recall needing to touch the dead to bring them back. Or at least whatever parts were left."

Thor gives his permission with a wave of his hand. The Grandmaster once again approaches the makeshift altar and lays a hand on Loki's face, caressing his temple like a lover might. Thor crosses his arms over his chest as he watches and reminds himself he cannot snap this madman in two. Not just yet. The Valkyrie, despite her misgivings, draws closer and stands on the other side of the body.

"All right, where are you?" the Grandmaster murmurs to himself. "Come on, kid. Get back here. I need a win."

"We all do," the Valkyrie says, her gaze darting to Thor. Thor, for his part, sticks as close to Loki's side as he can, not daring to hope too much but at the same time praying as hard as he ever has that this will work and Loki will be whole again.

At first, nothing happens.

At first, Thor thinks perhaps he will need to break the Grandmaster's neck after all for making him believe in such a fairytale.

But then a strange glow overtakes Loki's pale skin, a glimmering touch of silver that reminds Thor of the vastness of space. There is something in the air around them, like the scent of some strange flower, rarer than the blooms piled atop Loki. Thor wants desperately to find Loki's hand amid the petals and hold it in his own, but he's afraid of breaking whatever spell the Grandmaster is weaving.

Slowly, so slowly, the pallor leaves Loki's face and is replaced with a more healthy color. Thor hears the sound of bones shifting and cracking into place. He watches as Loki's white lips turn pink again, and his chest, which had been so still and silent, rises just the smallest inch. Or is it just Thor's wishful thinking?

"Loki?" Thor whispers. He cannot breathe. He cannot look anywhere but at that beloved face glowing in defiance of death.  

Loki's eyes fly open. He sits up with a huge gasping breath like a sleeper waking from a nightmare. Flowers spill into his lap and cascade off the cot. The dagger falls as well, clattering to the floor. It startles the Valkyrie enough that she jumps back a step. Even the Grandmaster pulls his hand away in a hurry. Thor is the only one who learns in, his hands cupping Loki's face, unable to believe their good fortune. He chants Loki's name over and over again, a joyful shout, while Loki's wild eyes take in everyone and everything around him.

"Why," Loki asks in a croaking voice, looking down at himself, "am I covered in flowers?"

Thor cannot seem to form any coherent words in answer, too relieved to do anything but drink in the sight of Loki speaking. He frames his face with his palms and hopes he knows by Thor's touch that he is loved.

The Grandmaster wiggles his fingers in greeting. "Aren't they nice? You were really, really dead for a second there."

Loki stares at him for a moment before his eyes roll to the back of his head. Thor catches him as he slumps forward in a dead faint.

"That went well!" The Grandmaster rubs his hands together, then spies the row of liquor bottles on the steps nearby. "I'd say this calls for a drink, wouldn't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still not the end! I can't believe it either. 
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support. It means the world to me. 
> 
> What else? I'm on [tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/). You can come say hi.


	19. Chapter 19

Loki wakes slowly by degrees. His eyes open, then fall shut, again and again, until he remembers he shouldn't be alive. Then his eyes snap wide open. He sits up in bed—his bed,  _ their _ bed—and looks around. He's alone in his quarters. He's also dressed in fresh sleeping robes, but that is not what he notices first. What captures his attention is how clean the room is. 

Considering the disaster it had been when he'd last seen it, the room's current state is nothing short of a miracle. Every scrap of clothing has been tidied away with no rubbish on the floor. Small bottles and jars line the vanity in a perfect, polished row. The walls sparkle with a high shine. Even the mirror has been replaced. Just how long was he asleep? Loki runs a hand through his hair, watching his reflection do the same. It's soft and straight, like it's been brushed with a hundred strokes. Certainly not his usual tangle after a long rest. 

Loki parts the folds of his sleeping robe in a deep V and looks down at his chest. Nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. There should be a huge wound where the Nidhogg had run him through, but there's no scar, not even a mark.

Something must have happened. Why can't he remember? He has to get up, has to find out what's going on. He starts to get out of bed, but a stab of pain stops him entirely, making him gasp and clutch at his side. His ribs are on fire. Actually, everything is sore from his scalp to his toenails. He falls back against a mound of pillows and tries to catch his breath. He's so weak, he can barely lift his head.

Then he sees it outside the huge cabin window: the glint of starlight. Loki sits up again carefully, leaning forward to get a better look. It's not a dream. The ship is no longer on Hassee. They're back in space. As he watches, the bright blue curve of a planet hoves into view until it takes up almost the entire window. 

Loki's breath catches. He knows that planet. They've reached Midgard.

Tears well in his eyes, a product of exhaustion and despair. So here they are at last on Earth's doorstep, with Loki too weak to fight or run. He rests his forehead in his palm. What was the point of bringing him back from the brink of death if Thor is only going to hand him over to a Midgardian prison? 

The door slides open. Loki looks up to see Thor walk in, a tray with a mug and a plate of food in one hand while he studies some tablet in his other. He glances in Loki's direction, then looks back down to his tablet before his gaze returns to Loki with a swiftness, his face painted in surprise. He nearly drops the tray, only saving it from tumbling at the last moment before setting it down on the vanity. 

"You're awake," he says. 

Loki does not bother to point out the obviousness of this observation. His gaze wanders about the room, as it is something pleasant to look at instead of Thor. He avoids the window; he's not sure his stomach can take such a sight. 

"I'm so glad you're— But how are you feeling?" Thor puts down the tablet onto the vanity as well, but he's not watching what he's doing and the thing slips off the edge. Loki looks on as Thor fumbles with catching it, then sets it more carefully beside the tray. "Sorry. We just thought you'd be out for much longer. I didn't expect— That is, the Grandmaster told me you'd probably sleep for a month after what happened. And here you are after only a week. Well, ten days." 

To be honest, Loki would like to sleep for a month. A year, perhaps. Or maybe however long his prison sentence will be. But how can he sleep when Thor keeps yammering on?

"I wanted to be here when you awoke. Of course it's the one minute that I decide to get some food…." Thor must notice him staring at the sparkling room, for he says, "I thought you'd like to see it cleaned up a bit. You always complained about—how did you put it?—living in such squalor. Gave me something to do." He gives a small laugh, but when Loki does not join in, he takes a pillow from a footstool and gives one a quick fluff before replacing it. 

"Are you hungry?" Thor asks all of a sudden, gesturing toward the tray he's just set down. "You must be. Have my meal, please. It's just, uh, some hot tea and a few odds and ends. Hasseean food. Not bad for vegetarian fare." He picks up the tray and holds it out to Loki. 

Loki eyes the food but he doesn't move to take the tray. He glances up at Thor and wonders if this is meant to be his last meal as a free man. 

Thor's brittle smile falls away from his face. "Loki, what's wrong? Why do you not speak?" He puts the tray back down, never taking his eyes off Loki as he does so. "Is the pain very bad? I can call for a healer if you wish." 

Loki lays down and turns toward the wall, giving Thor nothing but a view of his back. He doesn't make a sound. He stares ahead at nothing.

"Loki?" Thor touches his shoulder, featherlight, but Loki jerks away from his hand it as if it's the most deadly of weapons. 

There is a long silence in which Loki, unable to see Thor, can only imagine what emotions must be flitting across his face. Is he standing there with his fists balled at his sides, simmering with rage? Loki has no idea, but he refuses to turn and find out. 

When Thor speaks again, he does not sound wrathful, only very tired and very defeated. "I understand. You need your rest. I'll leave you be." And he walks toward the door, his footfalls muffled in the carpet. Loki listens to each and every tiny sound. 

He hears the door open. Two cheery greetings tumble from the hallway. Loki goes rigid on the bed, his heart leaping at the familiar voices. 

"There you are, Father! You promised you'd eat something today. You weren't in the mess, so we brought our suppers here." 

"You can't have any of mine," says Thorunn's prim voice, "but Droplaug might let you have some of her apple-y bits." 

Thor speaks in a hushed whisper. "That's very thoughtful of you, girls, but please keep your voices down. Your Pumi is trying to sleep." 

"Trying to? It's all he's been doing for days!" 

"Do you mean he finally woke up?" 

Despite the pain, Loki struggles to sit up at the sound of his children's sweet voices. He cannot allow Thor to send them away, not when this might be his last chance to see them before his inevitable imprisonment. His heart is in his throat, which hurts as the rest of him does, but he manages to call out. 

"Girls? Girls, I'm here! Please—" 

"Pumi!" 

The two little girls push their way past Thor, shoving their trays of food in his hands as they go. Thor, for his part, juggles the trays above their heads to keep them from being knocked over by the children's enthusiastic scampering onto the bed. Loki holds his arms open and lets Thorunn and Droplaug barrel into him, heedless of the burst of pain at their too-hard embrace. 

"Oh, my darlings." He kisses the tops of their heads over and over. "Oh, my sweet, sweet girls. I am so glad to see you." The reunion is tinged with sadness; he didn't think he'd ever have the chance to see them again, but their time together will be so fleeting.

"You scared us, Pumi."

"You must promise you'll never leave like that ever again," Thorunn says. 

Loki shuts his eyes at a fresh ache in both his heart and his spine. "I'm afraid that's not up to me, dearhearts." His eyes cut to Thor, who has been busy placing the children's trays on the table, watching the girls with a faint smile on his lips. But now that smile fades.

"What do you mean by that?" Thor asks.

Loki pretends he has not heard, only addressing the children. "Once we land on Midgard we will be separated. Do not fret; things won't be so bad. Though I won't be with you, at least I'll be close by." He draws his fingers through their hair, taking a moment to look over their braids. The girls' skills must be improving. Their braids are fairly uniform, tightly wound, and very neat. "Perhaps we will be allowed to visit once in awhile," he says with forced cheer. "Won't that be nice?"

The children stare at him with open-mouthed confusion. 

"I don't understand," Droplaug says with tears in her eyes. "Why will this happen? Since when are we landing on Midgard?" She looks to Thor, her tone almost accusing.

Now Loki is the confused one. He looks to Thor as well but does not say anything. 

Thor answers his unspoken question anyway. "We're not landing. The Ark is in orbit at the moment. We're merely dropping off Banner and a few others before making our next stop. I owe the Grandmaster a debt, and it will be repaid once I deliver him to his destination."

Loki blinks at this. It doesn't make any sense. If the ship—the Ark; it must have been named in his absence—isn't ending its journey here on Midgard, then where is it going? 

"Pumi?" Droplaug presses her little hand to Loki's cheek. "Are you all right? Did you have a bad dream while you were sleeping? Is that why your thoughts are all jumbled?"

"Yes, Droplet. That must be it." He takes her hand and kisses it. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry, I'm just so very tired."

Thor crosses his arms over his chest and nods to the door. "Girls, perhaps you should let your Pumi rest for now."

Thorunn shoots him a glare that Loki is sure could melt steel. "I don't want to leave," she says. "You can't make me."

"It's all right, precious," Loki says, running his hands through her braids again. "Why don't you and your sister go eat your supper? Tomorrow perhaps I'll be feeling a bit stronger. You can come see me then." He presses a kiss to her forehead.

"Are you sure?" Thorunn looks again to Thor, who is pointedly looking down at his feet. 

Loki understands her meaning. He, too, would rather not be left alone with Thor but it seems that he can't ignore the oaf forever. He needs to know what's happened since he's been out of commission, and he'd rather not discuss any upsetting details in front of the children.

"I'm sure, my darling. I love you both, and I'm so happy to be here with you again." He embraces them, one last desperate squeeze, before sending them to the door with their trays of food. Loki waves goodbye until the door shuts behind them. He sighs, dropping his hand to his lap. Exhaustion is overtaking him but he still has Thor to deal with. He gives his brother-husband an unimpressed raise of his eyebrows. 

"So?" he says in the silence of the room. "You may as well explain what's going on."

Thor picks up his mug of tea and holds it out to Loki. "Will you at least drink something while I talk? The Grandmaster said you would be very thirsty when you woke up."

It's true; Loki's mouth is quite dry. The discomfort outweighs his annoyance with allowing Thor to show him any small, meaningless kindness, so he takes the mug gingerly, careful not to let their fingers brush as he does so. He sips at the lukewarm brew. Not terrible; a hint of mint. He drinks more deeply and stares at Thor over the rim of the mug, waiting for him to speak. 

It comes as a whisper. "Did you really think I would have you imprisoned? After everything that's happened?"

Loki does not deign to answer. Instead he clears his throat and asks, "Why were you and En Dwi Gast discussing my health? I thought nothing could make you converse with him."

Thor bows his head and says, "The Grandmaster is the reason you breathe again. You were hours from the funeral pyre when he worked some sort of celestial magic and you returned from the dead. The only payment he's asked for is to be reunited with his brother, a being called the Collector." 

Loki thinks about this while he drinks his tea. He'd had no idea that En Dwi had such powers at his disposal. Then again, after being mad for so long, it was possible the lunatic had just forgotten to mention it. Rather lucky.

"And what of the ship?" he asks. "Where is it headed after we find this Collector?"

Thor shrugs. "We will need to seek another referendum among our shipmates as we did a few days ago." At Loki's flat look, he hurries to add, "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting you weren't awake for any of this. I suppose since I spoke aloud to you so often while you were asleep, some part of me thought that perhaps— But how could you have heard, sleeping as deeply as you did?" He shakes his head. 

Loki's patience is wearing thin. "What do you mean, a referendum?"

"Once you were brought back, a decision had to be made. The engines were nearly repaired; the Hasseean technology was installed. So I asked the people what they would have me do. The entire ship voted. Well, not the children, but everyone of age."

"Wait. Stop." Loki holds up a hand. "You are a King. What sort of leader—? Shouldn't the decision be yours?"

"On many worlds, a King does not come to his decisions alone. Our ship is populated with Asgardians and so many other races, and the choices before us were so varied, I thought it only right to let the people have their say."

"What choices were there? I thought Midgard was the only real option," Loki says, unable to keep the caustic tone out of his voice.

"It was one," Thor says, "and I told everyone aboard that they could choose it if they wished, but that if that was the decision of the majority—" He hesitates. "I explained I could no longer lead them as their King if they chose to settle on Midgard."

Loki's hands spasm around the mug, spilling tea on the bedsheets. "What! Why would you say such a thing? You have a responsibility! You have a birthright! You—" 

Thor might not be listening, for he is too preoccupied with hastily mopping up the spilled tea with a kerchief he's produced from his sleeve. "Loki, take care. You might burn yourself."

"Oh, it's barely warm! Tell me: why would you think to abdicate? Especially now when your people need you more than ever?"

"I did not want to abdicate," Thor says, now sitting on the edge of the bed with his damp kerchief balled in his hand. "But the people had to know where I stood. I couldn't make a life for myself on Midgard. Not if it meant risking yours." 

"But—" Loki looks to the window and the pale blue planet beyond. He cannot believe what he's hearing. "Are you truly abandoning Asgard here? How will they—?"

Thor shakes his head. "Apparently, upon reviewing the facts of the place, it wasn't very attractive. There is much upheaval on this world and little care for those who seek refuge. Only a handful voted to settle on Midgard, and some of those people will remain behind to blend in with the mortals and live their lives out here. That is their choice. But the overwhelming majority…" He looks down at his hands. "Most, including myself, voted to continue traveling. We will find another place to make our home. And I will lead us to it. I hope."

Loki's mind is a whirlwind. Everything has been turned upside down. He won't be imprisoned for life on Midgard after all. Now he will only be imprisoned here on the ship with his husband-who-perhaps-isn't-his-husband. And what of the Ark's citizens? Must they be sacrificed in this plan?

"Traveling through the vastness of space," Loki whispers, "the danger is so great. Anything might go horribly wrong, and we are so vulnerable."

"We have the strength and talents of a proud people," Thor says, "and we have friends who will accompany us on our journey. We have a near-endless supply of food, and the engines have been improved to the point where fuel is not such a grave concern. Anyway, the tesseract will allow us to travel great distances even if other systems fail." He nods almost to himself. "We can do this. We must; it's what our people agreed upon."

"'We,'" Loki says. He does not look at Thor. 

"Yes," Thor breathes. "We. If it pleases you." He reaches for Loki's hand, which sits motionless on the bedsheets, but Loki pulls it away before he can feel Thor's touch. Thor curls his fingers up into his palm like a crab retreating into its shell. 

Loki will not look at him. He passes the empty mug back to Thor without allowing himself one glance. "It sounds like you've thought of everything."

Thor makes a sound that Loki cannot identify. "I have not thought of a way to ease the pain between us. Loki, please. There are apologies I must make, if you would—"

"I am not interested in listening to you at the moment," Loki says. He lays back down amongst the pillows and turns on his side, facing away from Thor again. He is absurdly proud that his tears are silent. They slip down his face, soaking into the bedclothes below. His voice barely shakes. "Leave me be. As you said, I need my rest."

If Thor touches him now, he will break. He knows it in his heart. Thor could, with a mere caress, shatter him like glass and leave behind nothing whole. Loki would become a wild animal at his touch, biting, clawing, screaming, doing whatever he can to keep Thor at a distance. After everything that was said and done, how can they ever be as they were? Does he really think Loki will fall into his arms just because Thor's given up Midgard ostensibly for his sake? Loki is not a fool; he will not let himself to be swayed by pretty words and soppy gestures. He will scratch out Thor's other eye first.

The touch never comes. Loki listens to the clink of the mug on the tabletop. The sound of Thor rising from the bed, rustling the sheets. The snick of the door opening.

Loki pictures how Thor must look, standing there in the doorway, framed in light, looking back over his broad shoulder. He hopes there's as much pain on his face as there is in Loki's heart.

"I know you need time," Thor says. "I can give that to you."

"How generous," Loki snarls from his nest of blankets. He injects as much raw venom into his voice as he can. "You should prepare yourself for a very long wait." 

"I have." Thor's voice is so quiet, Loki thinks he might be imagining it. "Sleep well." 

No 'my love.' No foolish endearments. Just the click of the door closing and Loki, alone in his empty bed, crying without a sound into the pillows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knooooooooow. 
> 
> Up and down, up and down. 
> 
> So how are YOU feeling?


	20. Chapter 20

Loki is not very good at being an invalid. 

Boredom is his greatest enemy now, just as when he was imprisoned in Asgard's dungeons. It gnaws at his mind, turning him more sour as one day merges with the next. A stack of books grows ever taller at his bedside—volumes brought by Thor in a pathetic attempt to appease Loki and keep him occupied. Who knows where the oaf finds them all. He must be ferreting them out of the bits and pieces that the Asgardians brought on board, the few possessions they could lay hands on before escaping the destruction of their world. Loki doesn't ask, and Thor doesn't elaborate on the origins of his daily offerings. 

So Loki reads. Or tries to. Sometimes the books cannot hold his attention and he is left to think his thoughts, a forgotten tome of poetry open in his lap while imagined arguments are conducted within the confines of his skull. Those days are the worst. The monotony is broken up only by the girls' visits, which are Loki's sole delight, and Thor, who lurks in and out of the room several times a day, haunting Loki like a ghost. If ghosts were known to bring food and drink and inane little snippets of conversation to the sickbeds of the living. 

On this particular day, Loki is sitting up against the pillows, trying to read but in actuality passing over the same sentence about five times. He ignores Thor's quiet entrance in favor of reading it for a sixth. From the corner of his eye, he can see the tray Thor sets down on the vanity table: brown bread and some sort of porridge, it looks like. Loki's stomach gurgles loudly with hunger. He ignores that too, turning a page with more force than necessary and waiting on tenterhooks to see if Thor will make some silly comment on the noise. 

Thor, for once, avoids playing the ass and instead says, "The last few folks who have chosen to stay on Midgard have been transported to the surface by way of the tesseract. Banner asked me to say farewell to you on his behalf; he was eager to be home after all this time, and he departed early this morning. He didn't wish to disturb you." 

Loki finds it very unlikely that Bruce would think to say goodbye to him; it's not as if they've ever been friends. Not like Thor, who surely enjoyed a very manly embrace with his little mortal companion before seeing him off. Thor is just grasping for topics of conversation, he's certain. Well, it will be one-sided; Loki has nothing to add. 

He turns another page, focusing on the runes scrawled on the paper in front of him but seeing no sense in them. 

Thor sighs before trying his next conversational gambit. "Before leaving, Banner asked that we fly the ship out of range of Midgardian monitoring systems before using the tesseract again. The Collector is apparently residing, to the best of our knowledge, on an asteroid in the far reaches of another galaxy. Banner thought the energy it will take to travel there with the tesseract might alarm Earth's scientists and rulers, so—" 

Loki drops the heavy volume into his lap and fixes Thor with a look. "As fascinating as I'm sure this all is to someone who might care, pray tell me why you are peppering me with these asinine details?"

Thor drops his gaze and turns to fiddle with the utensils on the tray, as if lining them up in a perfect row might somehow make his words come more smoothly. "I thought you might like to know why the Ark will be flying at its old pace for the next week. If you would prefer it, I won't keep you abreast of our ship's movements."

Loki's jaw ticks. He lifts the book once more and buries his face in it. "You could just get to the point when you have something to tell me," he mutters. 

"I will try."

Somehow the soft, defeated tone of his voice only serves to anger Loki further. Where is Thor's legendary temper, and why must Loki put up with such a simpering shell of a man? 

"Get out," Loki says, almost as an afterthought. "I can't stand to look at you today." He turns another page, having read none of it. 

Thor does not protest, but slinks away like a kicked hound, closing the door behind him and plunging Loki into the loneliness of his empty cell. 

Loki forces himself to read a few more words, but in the end his frustration gets the better of him. He slams the poor book shut and throws it across the room. Well, tries to. He's still so terribly weak that the book barely clears the foot of the bed before landing with a thump on the carpet. 

The urge to scream is getting stronger. 

He tugs his hands through his hair, fingers snarling in the tangles. He'll go mad if he has to sit in this bed one more second. His eyes fall on the tray of food on the vanity; he's hungry, but not for that. He's sick of eating the food Thor brings him: carefully chosen, slightly cool, and bland. He needs to get himself a proper meal. Yes, that's exactly what he needs. Why hadn't he thought to do this sooner?

Loki eases himself out of bed and stands on quivering legs, holding onto the headboard to steady himself. He looks down at the sleeping robes he's wearing. He can't appear in public like this. He totters over to the panel that hides the built-in chest of drawers and slides it open. Neatly folded tunics and breeches are arranged in hopeful stacks, his and Thor's nestled side by side. His lip curls at the sight. He ought to toss Thor's clothes from the drawer and scatter them about the room, but a wave of nausea makes him grab the wall and rethink that plan. Better to get on with dressing before his strength deserts him, he decides. 

While digging through the drawer, Loki finds something toward the back: a small wooden box with no lid. Nestled inside on a bed of black velvet is his dagger, the one he'd inscribed for Thor as a wedding present. Something twinges in his chest. It must have been recovered after his death. And what does that cretin Thor do with it? Shoves it in the back of a drawer, forgotten. Loki grabs what he needs and slams the drawer shut. 

He dresses in simple clothes, dark wool with just a hint of green at his throat. It's the same thing he'd worn the day he'd first met Thorunn and Droplaug, and the memory nearly brings a smile to his lips. His girls are a bright spot in his otherwise dreary, disappointing life. Perhaps he will see them in the mess hall. Oh, but they'll be so surprised and happy to see him out of bed. With this thought buoying him, Loki steps out of his quarters for the first time in days. 

He doesn't make it more than ten feet before his knees give out. 

He collapses against the cold metal of the hull, sweat beading on his forehead, his muscles screaming. All his energy seems to have slipped away, leaving him a gasping, panting mess there in the hall. He pushes a hank of damp hair from his brow, hoping that no one will come upon him and see him in this miserable state. It would be all too embarrassing.  

"Loki?" Thor's voice, thick with shock and concern, echoes through the hall behind him. 

Loki shuts his eyes and curses to himself. Of course it would have to be Thor. He digs deep down for some untapped reserve of strength and manages to push himself back to his feet, hobbling down the hallway, using the wall to keep himself upright. 

Thor rushes to his side, eye wide with panic. "Loki, what's happened? Why are you out of bed?" 

"What does it look like?" Loki snaps, taking another painful, shaky step. "I'm going to get myself a decent meal."

"If you don't want the breakfast I brought you, I can fetch you something else. Just tell me what you'd like," Thor says. "Please, you're not well." He reaches for Loki's arm as if to wrest him from the wall, but Loki jerks away before he can make contact. 

"I don't want you to bring me another breakfast! I want to go somewhere that isn't that accursed bed!" Loki stumbles, pitching forward at a dangerous angle. He nearly falls flat on his face, but Thor saves him at the last moment by grabbing his shoulders. 

"Stop this before you hurt yourself," Thor says, louder and more forcefully than he's dared speak to Loki since his return. 

Loki can feel tears welling in his eyes. The pain is unbearable, but the shame of Thor seeing him like this is even more so. "Do not touch me," he says, looking only at the ground. "Take your hands off me right this instant."

There is a moment where Thor does not release Loki from his hold, and Loki wonders how he could possibly fight him off in this state, but in the end Thor lifts his hands away with a shake of his head. 

"Your pride will be the death of you," he says. 

Loki cannot help the little huff of laughter that escapes his lips. "Again," he adds.

"For Gods' sakes—" Thor's voice cracks on the words. He presses the heel of his hand to his one good eye. "If you will not let me help you, will you at least let me call for someone who can?" 

Loki thinks about this. It's true that he can't stay in this hall forever. In the end, he gives Thor a small nod. 

"Stay here," Thor says before disappearing around a corner. 

Loki leans heavily against the wall and murmurs to no one in particular, "Where exactly does he think I would go?" A tear escapes, dripping from his chin. Loki wipes it away, willing its brothers to remain unfallen.

After what seems like hours but what could only have been a minute or two, Thor returns with Lady Bridget at his side. He motions to Loki like a distraught merchant showing a builder the problem with his shop's foundations. 

"You see? Even in this state, he will not return to bed. He insists on going to the mess."

"Hello, Prince Loki," Bridget says. She slips her hand under his elbow and allows him to lean upon her. "It is good to see you awake and moving. Do you think we might go to the mess hall together?" 

Loki is ridiculously glad to see the healer. Her easy manner is like a balm to his jagged nerves. He even feels a little stronger, leaning on her as he is. 

"We might be able to manage that," he says, "though it could be slow going." Bridget chuckles as if this is a fine jest, and Loki allows himself a small smile. Then, because it would be rude not to, he adds, "Thank you."

"Nonsense. It's my pleasure." She pats his arm with her free hand as they walk slowly down the hall. "I was happy to receive the invitation from the King."

Loki casts a glance over his shoulder. Thor is following close behind, hands splayed out as if he might need to catch Loki again if he falls over. 

He sniffs and looks ahead once more. "One does yearn for superior company," he says. 

Bridget gives a shocked little laugh, but Loki does not join in. He merely lets the healer lead him to the mess hall, ignoring Thor the entire way. When Bridget pushes open the door and ushers him carefully inside, Loki sees that the long tables are packed full of people, all chatting away in their respective languages and, in some cases, a combination of tongues.

The nearest table seems to be playing host to a heated discussion. Loki sees a group of Asgardians leaning over their bowls of food and gesturing in a way that must emphasize their points. And he can hear them, too, as they argue. It's impossible not to, especially what with his name being mentioned so loudly. 

"I won't hear a word against Prince Loki! What the King did that day was shameful."

"Bah! I say the King was in the right. And anyway, what sort of hero sneaks his way onto the throne not once, but twice?"

"Oh, give that a rest. Can't you see the situation has changed? It's not as simple as you're making it out to be."

"One thing is very simple: if you think the Prince didn't plan for his painted friend to bring him back to life after conveniently fixing his own reputation, then you're a bigger fool than I thought. Why, I'd bet—"  

A wide-eyed commoner sees Loki standing there in the doorway and begins elbowing her companion in the side. The man balks at being interrupted, but soon realizes that everyone is staring past him so that he, too, turns and sees Loki. Loki watches this all impassively, feeling Thor's presence as a building storm at his back. He can practically taste the lightning in the air.

"My King! My Prince!" The man stands, grabbing his hat from his head and holding it in both hands. "My apologies for this, uh, idle gossip. We meant no harm." 

Thor's voice is as sharp as a sword's edge. "No harm? Your words—"  

Loki raises a hand and silences him. "Thor," he says, "let's not keep these good people from their meal. I'm sure we're all much too famished for that. Besides." He leans heavily on Bridget but stands as straight as he is able, smiling wickedly. "Who doesn't love a bit of gossip?"

The man executes a grateful bow. "Thank you, my Prince." 

Loki nods to him and sweeps by on Bridget's elbow, Thor following close behind, no doubt glowering at the poor souls. He finds an empty bench at a nearby table and allows Bridget to carefully lower him to his seat. Mercy is certainly draining, Loki thinks with a sigh.

"Masterfully done, my Prince," Bridget murmurs. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you in advance. It's been the talk of the ship, your adventure with the dragon and all. Everyone has an opinion, it seems, and no one has been shy about sharing it." 

"And what of your opinion, my Lady?" Loki asks. "It's one of the few I'd care to know."

Bridget holds his hands clasped in hers. "Oh, you know how healers are. I'm as neutral as can be." She gives him a wink, then leans close to whisper in his ear. "Though I wonder if you might give the King some small concession? You weren't here; you don't know how he suffered when he thought you lost forever."

Loki swallows at that, his gaze skating to Thor, standing at a respectful distance, still glowering. He's not completely blind. He knows Thor must have felt quite horrible, but really. It was only for a little while, and it's not as if the misery wasn't of his own making! Well, perhaps not entirely of his making. Still. A good portion. Loki does not like to think of their shared responsibility in this mess they find themselves; he's not ready to douse his anger just yet, but perhaps he should let some of it burn itself out. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear and considers Bridget's plea.

Thor hovers closer. "Shall I get you a plate?" he asks. "What would you eat?"

Loki squashes the instinct to make some biting comment in answer, catching Bridget's eye as he gnaws on the inside of his cheek. 

"Some fruit, if there is any," he finally says, "and some more of that tea."

Thor leaves to fulfill his request as Bridget takes a seat on Loki's left side. "Maybe someday soon, you'll even manage a 'please,'" she teases.

Loki quirks an eyebrow. "I wouldn't hold my breath."

Thor returns with a tray piled high with all sorts of Hasseean fruits as well as two mugs of tea. "One for you, Loki." He sets down the mug in front of him. "And one for you, Lady Bridget," he says, holding out the last.

Bridget receives her tea with a surprised lift of her brows. "Thank you, my King, but you needn't wait on me. Didn't you get something for yourself?"

"I don't mind," Thor says, sitting down on her other side. "And I've already eaten this morning." 

Loki sees the way Bridget's eyes narrow, as if she doesn't quite believe Thor's words. Without the Nidhogg to keep them in line, he supposes they'll fall right back into their lies and deceptions. Though why Thor would need to lie about having breakfast, Loki has no idea. It's none of his concern, anyway.

He nibbles at the fruit and sips his tea. The noise in the mess hall slowly rises back to the level it had been at when he'd appeared in the doorway. There are a few glances in his direction, but he pays them no mind. Despite the tension, Loki is pleased to be in new surroundings. Anywhere is better than that empty bed. He looks around, but does not see his children as he'd hoped.

"Where are the girls?" he asks. 

"At their morning lessons with the Valkyrie," Thor replies. "Would you like me to—?"

"No, no," Loki says quickly. "Their schooling is too important. I can always see them later." He toys with a piece of a plum, or what looks like a plum. 

Thor watches the movements of his hands before saying, "They've been learning so much lately. The Valkyrie tells me they've surpassed even some of her own apprentices in several techniques. Thorunn is very clever with a light blade, and Droplaug has found ways to disarm opponents twice her size. I help with their training when I can, but of course—" He stops, then shakes his head. "Apologies. I forgot; you've asked me not to ramble." 

Part of Loki wants to tell Thor to keep talking; he could never tire of hearing about his children's exploits. But the other part, the one that still seethes at Thor and his stupidity, makes him turn away and continue dissecting his plate of fruit in silence. 

Bridget drains her mug with a swiftness Loki hasn't seen since his younger days in taverns. "Excuse me," she says, standing. "I need to get a bit more tea. Thirsty work, this is." 

As she disappears, so too does the buffer that had existed between Loki and Thor. Loki shifts away an inch on their shared bench, trying very hard to look at nothing but his food. 

"I know the rumors are false," Thor says under his breath once they are alone. 

"Oh?" Loki picks a seed from a bright red slice of fruit. "Which one? There are so many, I'm sure." He takes a bite. Yes, it tastes red too.

"What that man was saying about the Grandmaster, about you knowing he'd bring you back." Thor shrugs, resting his elbows on the table and staring straight ahead. "I know it's not true."

Loki chews, thinking. "How can you be so sure?" he asks. "It certainly sounds like one of my plots."

"You wouldn't have put the children through that if you'd known what would happen," Thor says simply. "You love them too much. And I was there. I saw the look on your face." He draws invisible symbols on the tabletop with his fingertip. "You expected to die and remain dead." 

The fruit is very sweet, though Loki cannot enjoy the flavor. His mouth tastes nothing but rain and blood, the memory of death overwhelming all else. He drinks some tea to wash it away before he attempts to speak. 

"What a rare moment of perception from you." 

"Our people should not wonder at your motives like this," Thor continues with heat in his voice. "I should make some speech, perhaps, and explain the facts to them."

"Oh, let them think what they like." Loki waves a hand through the air. "I'd prefer them believing that I always have some master plan. It's better than the truth." He gives a short laugh.

Thor looks at him, his eyes shadowed by deep tiredness. "And what is the truth?" 

"That I'm often an impetuous fool who acts much too rashly without a thought as to the consequences," Loki says, looking away. "But you already knew that." He pops what looks like a grape into his mouth. Oh, it tastes of candy floss. Those Hasseeans certainly knew what they were doing. 

"Here we are." Bridget announces her return by plunking a bowl of porridge in front of Thor. "I thought I should get you something while I was up, Your Majesty." She seats herself on Loki's far side instead of between the two of them, sipping at her refilled mug deeply enough that she can avoid Loki's glare. 

Thor offers Loki an apologetic look before sliding the bowl away from himself. "Thank you, Lady Bridget, but as I said, I've already—" 

"A little more won't hurt you." She reaches over and slides it back. "Go on." 

Loki watches as Thor grudgingly takes a bite of the food. What a strange little pantomime. He doesn't have any idea what it all means. 

Bridget must see the confusion wrinkling his brow. She leans in to whisper in his ear: "He hasn't been eating." 

Preposterous. Loki has known Thor his entire life, and not once in all that time has he known him to lose his appetite. "You must be mistaken," he whispers back. 

Bridget looks at him like she's never met a bigger fool. Loki would be offended but, well, he's not entirely sure she's wrong. He looks back at Thor, who is spending an inordinate amount of time gathering up a second spoonful of porridge as if the strength it will take to swallow it might be beyond him. It's painful to watch. 

No one deserves to waste away to nothing, Loki thinks. Not even huge oafs that need to be cut down to size. 

"Thor…." he says, but before he can say anything else, a shadow falls across their table. Loki looks up to see an Asgardian, a man he doesn't recognize, standing there with a worried look on his face. 

"Prince Loki," he says, "I am sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted to say—" He tugs at his lengthy braid, which lies over his shoulder. "What you did back on that planet was very brave."

"Oh, really." Loki waves off the praise but the man will not be deterred. 

"No, it was. And also— Well, I wanted to tell you— That day in the Great Hall, when Bjorn stood against you? I was one of the people who agreed with him." The man's face goes red, his eyes darting to Thor before returning to Loki. "Please forgive me. I was wrong. I'm so ashamed of the way I acted." 

"Ah." What in the world is Loki supposed to say to that? He looks to Bridget, who is staring open-mouthed at the stranger. He looks to Thor, who is also no help, being in much the same state. He gathers up his tattered strength and fixes the man with a sharp-toothed smile. "We've all done things we regret. Thank you, kind sir, for your candor."

The man extends his hands. Loki sees that he has tears in his eyes. Not knowing what else to do, he takes the man's hands and gives them a reassuring squeeze. It moves even his sundered heart to see the stranger so overcome with relief.

"Bless you, my Prince," says the man. He leaves with a series of too-low bows. 

Loki blinks a few times before returning to his fruit. "That was odd," he mutters to himself.

"My Prince?" 

Loki looks up in the middle of chewing his bite of food. A woman has now taken the man's place, standing there on the other side of the table with a young child at her side. 

"I wanted my daughter to meet you. Would you be so kind…?"

The little child, smaller even than his own, climbs up on the opposite bench and reaches her hands out to him. At a loss, Loki takes the tiny hands in his own and gives the girl a lopsided smile. 

"Hello there." 

The babe squeals with delight and runs behind her mother's skirts, peeking out at Loki with a mischievous grin. 

"What a lovely child," he says to the woman, who thanks him and wishes him good health before moving on.

That is when Loki realizes that more than half the people in the mess hall are on their feet, staring at him with hopeful smiles, stepping forward—some timidly, some with great purpose—to greet him. He sits on his bench, too weak to rise, too surprised to do so even if his legs would obey him, as waves of people approach. They murmur well wishes, press his hand, touch him on the shoulder, call him their Prince. More than a few say they've loaned the King this book or that so that Loki might have something to read, and they ask how he's liking their particular title. Some apologize for how badly they've thought of him in the past; others stop short of that but give him signs of respect all the same. One father even hands over his tiny baby so that Loki might kiss its pink brow.

What with the bowing and the touches and the soft words, Loki is utterly thunderstruck. It's all he can do to accept their kindnesses without fainting from shock. He takes a moment after a lengthy prostration to turn to Thor and hiss, "Did you order them to act this way?"  

"I swear this is not my doing," Thor says, his gaze passing over the small crowd of people still waiting their turn to speak with the Prince. He looks as overcome as Loki feels. 

Bridget takes it upon herself to say softly in his ear, "You are a hero to them now. I believe this is one of the few good parts of the job." 

"I'm not—" Loki's head spins. "I didn't do it for—" 

"They know," she says. "That is what makes them love you." 

Loki would protest, but is interrupted by a youth who pushes a piece of parchment in his face with quite a good likeness of himself upon it. 

"I thought you might enjoy this, my Prince," she says, peeking shyly from behind her curtain of hair. "Please accept it as a token of my wish for your continued good health." 

"You made this?" he says, bewildered. He takes the paper and examines the illumination of his face wreathed in golden light. "Thank you. I will gift it to my daughters; they do not yet have a portrait of me." 

"Oh!" The youth colors vividly. "It is not a portrait; it's only a little scribble. I'm not yet good enough to attempt portraiture." 

"Listen to me." Loki holds up the little painting. "This is more than an attempt, my dear. Our people need song and beauty and art of all kinds, especially now that we are adrift. You are Asgard's future, and your efforts are more important than you realize." 

"Oh, Prince Loki." The youth holds out her arms, her eyes filling with tears. "May I…?" Loki does not understand at first what she intends, but when his slow brain realizes she means to embrace him, he nods in a daze. She launches herself across the narrow table and hugs him to her for a brief moment before stepping back. "Sorry. It's only— I admire you so, and to hear you say such a thing— My Prince, it means the world to me."

"It's only the truth," he says, and tips his head to her. "Thank you for your gift." As the youth leaves with a smile, Loki turns to hand to parchment to Thor. "Could you hold onto this for me? I wouldn't want it getting crushed."

Thor takes the paper. When he speaks, his voice is choked with some unnamed emotion. "I will keep it safe." And he secrets it away in the folds of his cloak.

"Hmph!" 

Loki turns on the bench to glance at the table next to theirs. There sits Bjorn, the lone occupant, mashing his food to bits on his plate and giving the crowd nasty looks over his shoulder. 

"Hmph!" he says again, just in case the first one wasn't heard, apparently. 

"What is he still doing here?" Loki whispers to Bridget. "I thought he'd be the first one in line to settle on Midgard."

"He's stubborn. Refuses to budge," she says. "Says he won't abandon the ideals of old." She lets Loki know what she thinks of this with a roll of her eyes.

"In my view," Bjorn announces loudly to seemingly no one at all, "it's unbecoming of our leaders to expect their people to fawn and coo over them. It's not very regal, is it?"

A few in the crowd boo and protest, gesturing him away as if swatting at a fly. "Do not listen to that cranky old shit, my Prince!" someone shouts. "If you'll pardon my language!" 

Loki hides his grin, not terribly well, behind his hand. Once he can marshal his expression back into something more formal, he drops his hand and says, "You have my express permission to use whatever language you see fit."

"Ho ho! Does that go for me as well?" Bjorn spins on his own bench to glare at Loki. "Or is it only your fanatics that enjoy the privilege?" 

"You may say what you like," Thor says as he makes to rise. "Just know that I may respond in kind." 

Well, this is getting out of hand. Loki clicks his tongue. "Thor, keep your seat. A citizen of Asgard wishes to speak to me." He fixes Bjorn with a steady look. "Let him speak." 

The show of benevolence must anger Bjorn, for he seems to forget himself enough to scoff, "I wish to speak to a real man, not some weakling magician who wears more jewels and finery than any woman on this ship!"

A gasp threads its way through the room, and even Loki is taken aback by the vehemence of the Bjorn's words. He thinks, dully, that he's not even wearing any jewels today. Thor is already on his feet, looking for all the world like he's about to pummel the man through the hull. Bridget's hand clasps Loki's arm, though she does not need to hold him in place; Loki is quite frozen there all on his own. Baseless insults are one thing—that, Loki can handle—but being struck with something so close to a hidden truth is quite another.

"My mercy is not boundless," Thor growls, "and I will not tolerate you any longer."

"No." Loki reaches for Thor's hand and grabs it in his own. This voluntary touch, however practical, is enough to halt Thor in his tracks and look down at Loki with such painful desire on his face that Loki nearly forgets what he meant to say. He shakes his head to clear it. "It's all right. He isn't wrong." Murmurs work their way across the room. Loki takes a deep breath and gathers his courage. "I'm not a man," he says, then closes his eyes, thinking. "Well…" 

A shift in shape. A small but noticeable difference in face and frame. Loki tucks a long lock of hair behind her ear and opens her eyes. 

"Not all the time," she says. 

The people gathered in the mess hall stare with mouths hanging open. For a long beat of silence, Loki wonders if perhaps she has made a mistake in tending toward the dramatic. Oh well, she thinks as her stomach sinks down to her feet. It was nice to be loved while it lasted. 

At last a voice speaks. "My valiant Queen," says Thor, and folds his big hand over hers where it still clutches at his arm. Loki looks up into his face and sees nothing but the purest expression of pride she's ever seen. Even their childhood hunts had never won her such favor as that which flows from Thor now. Thor nods and turns to address Bridget in a voice that carries. "Does she not look healthier by the minute? I think her visit here has done her much good today." 

"Certainly," says Bridget, her eyes darting between them but her voice steady. "We all pray for the Queen's swift recovery, Your Majesty."

A person from the crowd lets loose a joyous exclamation: "To the Queen's health! Skol!" 

Dozens grab for whatever mugs of drink are nearby, lifting them to the air. 

"To her sacrifice!" 

"To her protection!" 

"Bless our sometimes-Queen!"

"And sometimes-Prince!"

Loki wonders if she could be dreaming; perhaps she is still abed and imagining the entire thing. But her limbs tremble and her heart races and lifts in a way that means she is here, she is alive, and she has done this thing she dreaded. She sees Bjorn push himself away from his table and leave the hall in disgust, but no one else seems to notice. They are too busy offering toasts in her honor. 

It's too much. She can barely manage to nod her thanks to everyone who celebrates. She's so light-headed, she wonders if she will faint right there on the table. That won't do. She squeezes Thor's fingers in a silent plea.

Thor's hand tightens over hers. "Perhaps that is enough excitement for one day?" he says quietly, bending low to speak into her ear. "Would you like to get some rest now?"

"Please," she whispers. 

"Lady Bridget?" Thor asks. "Would you—?" 

"Of course," says the healer, and helps Loki rise to her feet with a firm grip at her elbow. 

Loki gives one final smile and wave to the crowd, thanking them all with whatever words she can manage to cobble together—hopefully she's coherent but it seems to make little difference to the people. She walks out of the mess hall assisted by Bridget, flanked by Thor, listening to the cheers following behind her.  

She's exhausted, drained of every last bit of strength, but she has never felt such a happy glow in her heart as that moment. It makes her want to be softer, sweeter, better—to be worthy of her people. She opens her mouth to say as much to Thor, who surely would understand after his own long journey to the throne. But then she sees the look on Thor's face, tense as if he is steeling himself for whatever Loki might say, praying that it is kind, readying himself in case it is not. 

Loki closes her mouth and looks away. Thor is right to be afraid of her. She's shown him nothing but thorns since she awoke days ago; she's taken sadistic pleasure in pushing him away and bringing him low. Perhaps if she hadn't been so adamant about keeping him at arm's length, her convalescence wouldn't be the lonely torture it's become. Even as tired as she is, she is not looking forward to returning to that cold bed for another endless string of hours alone. 

Bridget pats Loki's arm with a frown. "Are you well, my Queen?" 

"Yes," Loki says quickly. "Fine, thank you. Just a little fatigued." 

"Understandable. What you just did must've taken a lot of strength, my Lady. At least, I imagine so." She squints at Loki as if trying to determine something from her face alone. "Am I right to name you 'Queen' and 'Lady?' I only followed the King's lead but—" 

"No, you did well," Loki assures her. Her gaze flits to Thor but does not linger. "The King acted correctly." 

Thor lets out a deep breath. "I had hoped so, but am glad to hear you say it." 

Bridget is still squinting. "Do you—? I mean, is this the way you always—?" Her hands flaps helplessly at Loki's body. 

Loki gives her a slow smile. "Not every day, but some days. Other days, I am something else entirely. Not very sensible, is it?"

Bridget seems to consider this before saying, "Forgive me for saying so, and I mean this in the fondest possible terms, but I don't think you and sense are the closest of friends, my Lady." 

Loki laughs so hard, her ribs creak. She holds her side, stopping in the middle of the hall to catch her breath. Thor, she notices, sticks close, his hands a nervous flutter. Bridget smiles, pleased with herself, until a younger healer bustles down the hallway towards them, causing her face to fall into a serious expression.

"Lady Bridget," says the healer, "could you please come to the healing room? A child has smashed his fingers in a door and we could use your expertise." 

"Well, I—" Bridget looks to Loki, then Thor.

Loki pats her hand. "Go. I will be all right." 

She thanks her with a fast bob of a curtsey before bustling away with her companion, leaving Loki in Thor's care. Loki rests one hand against the wall and holds out her other arm, allowing Thor to take her by the elbow and keep her upright. Together they make the slow trek back toward their quarters. Loki marvels at how long the distance seems now that she is so weakened. 

It seems like someone should say something, so Loki finally clears her throat and asks, "Where is En Dwi Gast? I did not see him among the crowd in the mess hall." 

"The Grandmaster has agreed to take his meals in his room, and to not leave it except in the most dire of circumstances," Thor says. "I thought it best to keep him away from our alien friends." 

Loki nods, tossing her hair. "A fair point. I would like to visit with him, though. Perhaps when I am not so tired." She wonders if Thor still harbors some jealous feelings toward En Dwi. Yes, the more she thinks on it, the more the idea of visiting him appeals. She's never met a knife she wouldn't twist. "It would be ill-mannered not to thank him in person. After all, I owe him my life. And I'm  _ so _ grateful." 

"Of course." Thor looks away, taking great interest in some empty hallway as they pass. "I'm sure he would appreciate it." 

Loki can't help but deflate a bit at Thor's easy acceptance. If he doesn't even protest Loki seeing her former lover in his own room, or offer to accompany her— How little Thor must care for her now. The thought makes her throat tight. She is just like that dagger, kept only out of sentiment, but shoved away in the back of some dusty drawer where Thor will not see her or think of her ever again. 

Her knees buckle. Loki lets out a little yelp as she slumps toward the ground, but Thor's arms are around her in an instant, keeping her steady, holding her tight. Her face is pressed to the side of his neck. His scent is the same it's always been, the one she's always loved.

Loki breathes. She will not weep. Not for this. 

"I can carry you," Thor says softly against her ear, "if you would let me."

"No," Loki whispers. Then, more steadily: "No. I can walk. Just— Give me a moment." 

"As much time as you need." Thor's nose is in her hair. Does she imagine it, or is he inhaling her scent as well? 

"You don't mean that," Loki says.

Thor holds her tighter. "I will prove it to you if it takes an eternity." 

They stand there for much, much too long. Not a whole eternity, perhaps, but a small one. Eventually Loki will regain her footing and allow Thor to lead her back to her lonely quarters. Eventually she will lean on him only as much as she must to walk the remaining few yards. Eventually she will slip between the bedsheets, still fully clothed, and fall straight into an exhausted sleep. 

Eventually.

For now she lets Thor hold her, and clings to him in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting there. 
> 
> Just a few more, I think.
> 
> Your comments are amazing; your love is amazing. Thank you.


	21. Chapter 21

When Thor arrives the next morning bearing his customary breakfast tray, Loki is already awake and dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You're late," Loki says.

Thor blinks but recovers without much fuss. "Apologies." He sets down the tray. "May I ask what I'm late for?"

"I told you, I mean to visit En Dwi." Loki glances toward the window to take stock of the view. Same old stars. "I could attempt the walk on my own, of course, but after what happened yesterday— Well, we wouldn't want anyone to trip over my collapsed body."

"No," Thor says with a firm shake of his head, "we wouldn't." He holds out a bowl of cut fruit. "I'd be happy to show you the way to the Grandmaster's room. Will you eat something first?"

Loki picks out the reddish fruit and a few of the grapes, leaving the rest behind. "You chose poorly. I don't like these kinds," he says, passing the bowl back to Thor. "Eat them so they don't go to waste."

Thor follows the order with a shrug, which pleases Loki more than it should.

They make their way together through the twisting maze of the halls, Loki leaning for support on Thor's arm. Though he feels much stronger today, he's glad he did not chance it. Every so often, his muscles feel as if they've turned to honey around his bones. Those are the times when he clutches at Thor and is glad for his solidness.

"Nearly there," Thor says as they make one more turn down an empty corridor. Then, clearing his throat, he says, "If you like, I could find a cane or a staff that you might use until your strength returns."  

Loki hums. "Yes, I suppose the King of Asgard has better things to do than act as my crutch."

"That's not what I—" Thor turns his head away. "Never mind."

Loki watches him closely, thinking on yesterday's decision to be a little softer. "It's a practical solution," he says at last. "If you can find one, I would appreciate it. As long as it is not too ugly. I don't want to look like some old wizened crone."

"You could never," Thor says. Before Loki can retort, he pats Loki's hand where it rests on his elbow and says, "This is the Grandmaster's door."

Loki stares at the plain metal door, then looks back at Thor. He can say the words. He should at least try.

"Thank you," he manages.

"It was nothing." Thor glances back the way they've come. "Well. I should give you some privacy."

Of course Thor does not plan on accompanying him inside. Why would he? Loki nods, distracted. "Yes, I suppose you should."

"Shall I return in an hour's time? That is, if you need assistance—?"

"Yes, perhaps—?"

"Two hours, do you think?"

"I don't know, I—"

They might have stood there all morning, but mercifully the door slides open and halts their tiresome back-and-forth. The Grandmaster stands there in the doorway, grinning like a loon.

"Good! You're both here!" he says. "Come in, come in. I need to talk to you." And before Loki knows what's happening, he and Thor are pulled into the little room and the door is shut behind them.

Loki turns in a circle, taking in the space with amazement. He'd assumed there would be no personal touches in the room given the circumstances, but somehow En Dwi has contrived to decorate the place with swathes of Sakaarian color and texture. Fine bolts of cloth hang in wild drapes from the ceiling and walls. The bed is covered by an expanse of rich velvet. Some sort of sculpture, mildly erotic, stands on a pedestal in the corner.

"Do you like what I've done with the place?" The Grandmaster takes Loki by the arm and steers him toward the bed. "Sit, sit, please. Welcome."

Loki sits, groping behind himself for a pillow and finding one with orange tassels all along its edge, which he holds in his lap. Thor, for his part, stands as far away as possible in the small space, back to a corner, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Where did you get all this?" Thor asks, looking about the room.

The Grandmaster points a finger at him. "That's a great question." Then, neglecting to answer it entirely, he turns to Loki. "So how are you doing? You look so good. Most people are laid out for much longer after being dead, but look at you. Got some color in your cheeks and everything." He leans forward at pokes said cheek with a painted fingernail.

Loki bats his hand away. "I'm improving daily, thank you for asking. More importantly, thank you for restoring my life."

"Oh, pssssh." The Grandmaster waves a hand through the air, looking over at Thor. "It was nothing, right? Well, not nothing, but I was happy to do it. And to be honest, it wasn't a hundred percent selfless; I did want to get off that planet, you know."

"Be that as it may," Loki says, "I'm grateful. I would never have expected you of all people to come to my rescue. Perhaps I misjudged you. For that, I'm sorry."

"Like I said before." En Dwi picks up Loki's hand and holds it in both of his. "Everything changes. If you wait long enough."

Thor reaches out and fiddles with the sculpture, then, realizing what its shape intends, drops his hand with a quickness. "Did you need to speak to me as well, Grandmaster?" he says. "Or shall I leave?"

"No, stay! I had this amazing idea. You, the King—" He lets go of Loki's hand and sweeps over to Thor, resting a palm on his chest. "You'll love this. So you know that little glowing cube you've got? The one that makes the ship go—" He makes a loud zooming noise, eyes bulging.

"Yes, it is in Heimdall's care at the moment," Thor says, leaning back just a tad.

The Grandmaster doesn't seem to notice Thor's discomfort. His fingertips draw patterns along Thor's armored chest plate. "Here's the thing. I know my brother would _love_ to get his hands on that. I mean, he's the Collector, right? He collects. Makes deals. And I have a feeling he might have something you'd really, really like too."

"And what would that be?" Thor asks.

"Oh, you know." The Grandmaster shrugs. "A planet."

Loki sits up straighter. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. Yeah. I remember him having at least a couple dozen back in the day. Good ones, too. Water, atmosphere, all the bells and whistles. I'm sure his collection has only grown since then." He gestures expansively. "So? What do you think? You drop me at his doorstep, tearful reunion, so on and so forth, then you enact a little trade: the tesseract for a new home world. Huh? Isn't that perfect?"

Thor looks to Loki, his mouth a round O. "It could be the answer to many of my prayers," he says. "What say you, Loki?"

Loki blinks. Right. He's still Thor's Advisor. He should advise. His mind is working at a million miles a second. Their journey could be at an end much sooner than they'd hoped. But—

"We cannot do it," he says.

"What? Why the hell not?" the Grandmaster cries.

Loki purses his mouth and shakes his head. "It's much too dangerous."

"How so?" Thor asks. His tone is not a combative one, just one of curiosity. Loki is glad for it.

"When I was impersonating Father," Loki begins—then, aside to En Dwi: "A long story. When I was impersonating Father, I was approached by the Lady Sif. She said something to me which only now makes sense. 'The mission is done, my King. The aether has been placed in the collection as you ordered.' Naturally I had no idea what she was talking about so I merely…." He gives an aloof, regal nod in an excellent impression of Odin. "And that was the end of it."

Thor squints at him, his hand stroking at his beard. "So this Collector already has aether in his possession?" His eye goes wide. "You're right. We cannot hand over the tesseract as well."  

Loki nods. "It's too much power in one hand. These items should not be kept together if we can help it. I'm sure that was Father's intention in getting rid of the aether in the first place." He slumps. "It's a shame. It's for the good of the entire universe that we guard the tesseract, but our people will suffer for it."

"Well, uh, can't we put it to a vote?" the Grandmaster says. "Isn't that what you all do now? Democracy? The will of the masses? Maybe they don't want to suffer for the good of the universe."

Loki turns his gaze to Thor. They share a look that needs no words. It's a tempting proposition. But they are not in a position to be tempted.

"This is too dire a thing to put to a vote," Thor finally says. "I am sorry, En Dwi Gast. Your brother will have to collect something else."

The Grandmaster sighs elaborately and flops onto a lounge seat by the wall. "That's fair. I just thought it would be helpful, you know, to put it out there." He brightens suddenly. "Hey, maybe you'll want to trade some of that good, good Hasseean grub. I'm sure that's something he's never had."

"That we can manage." A small grin grows on Thor's lips. "Thank you. For this, and for what you did for Loki."

"Oh, it's fine. Really." The Grandmaster reaches out a hand and lazily pats Loki's knee. "Anything for our boy here."

An idea forms, and Loki blurts it out before he can think better of it. "Why do you not stay?" he asks.

The Grandmaster squints. "What?"

Thor's face falls. "What?"

"Well, we are nomads now, and perhaps we will be traveling for a very long time in dangerous conditions." Loki gestures to En Dwi. "If we had someone on board who could bring people back to life…."

"Oh, no no no no no." The Grandmaster stands and begins to pace. There's not much room for it, so it looks more like a flutter of robes and sandals. "Thanks but no thanks. I'm not into the whole semester at sea vibe. Also, lifegiving? I know I keep saying it's no big deal but it takes a _lot_ out of me." He grimaces. "And it doesn't always work. And I think maybe it _shouldn't_ always work. Think about it: if everyone in this bucket of bolts suddenly thought death meant nothing, imagine how much trouble they would get into. Nope, nuh-uh. I made my decision. All I want is to find my brother, make peace with him, and quietly retire to a life of not fucking around with too many things."

Loki smiles and looks down at the velvet bedspread. "You make a good point. Though in a way, I will be sorry to see you go. As strange as that sounds."

"Same here, kid." The Grandmaster offers his hands, and Loki takes them, allowing En Dwi to pull him to his feet. "Listen, get some shut-eye, all right? I'm serious, you can't be running around the ship all the time and expect to get better. I heard you gave quite a show in the mess hall yesterday. That's too much stress for someone in your condition." He grins. "Wish I could have seen it, though. What were you wearing? Something tight? Revealing?"

Loki catches sight of Thor's face over the Grandmaster's shoulder. He looks as red as a Hasseean fruit.

"Nothing so daring," Loki laughs. "You would have been disappointed."

"In you? Never." En Dwi lifts one of Loki's hands to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "Okay. Take care of yourself."

"You as well," Loki says and, with a gesture to Thor, takes his arm for support before leaving the room. The pleasant visit has given him a cheery outlook, and even the long, slow walk back to his quarters is not so frustrating as it might have been.

"Isn't it funny?" he says to Thor as they walk. "How some people can surprise you so thoroughly?"

"I suppose."

Loki does not miss the stiffness in Thor's tone. Perhaps the jealous brute is not completely gone. Interesting.

Loki smiles to himself. It's a good day. "I should like to see the children," he says. "Do you think they might have a break in their lessons sometime soon?"

"You heard what the Grandmaster said. You should be resting."

"Visiting with the girls is extremely restful for me," Loki points out. "And I did not get a chance yesterday."

Thor seems to be preparing to argue, his jaw ticking, before he relents with a sigh. "Perhaps they can eat their midday meal in your quarters. If you promise to stay in bed, it should not be too taxing."

"Listen to you, doling out instructions like a nursemaid," Loki teases.

Thor is not in the mood for jests, apparently. "Forgive me for wanting to see you restored to good health," he growls.

Loki does not know what to say to that, so the remainder of their walk is spent in tense silence. He doesn't understand it. Why is it that every time it feels like he and Thor are getting on the same page, the script changes entirely?

They reach the room. Thor lowers him to sit on the edge of the bed. Loki contemplates his boots and decides those, at least, should be removed before he slips between the sheets. Thor is already heading toward the door as he works at the buckles.

"I will return in a few hours' time. With the girls, if they are able," he says. He gives Loki no time to reply before shutting the door behind him.

Ah, well. A few more lonely hours. Loki eases his sore feet from his boots and crawls under the bedclothes. He doesn't think he can sleep any more than he already has, but the events of the morning must have tired him more than he expected; he dozes off and on until the door opens again and his two girls rush in to greet him.

Droplaug is the first to clamber into his lap. "Pumi! The other children said you showed people your Lady's shape yesterday! It was all they'd talk about during our lessons."

"Everyone had a lot of questions to ask us," Thorunn says, climbing onto the bed just behind her sister. "Some of them were very silly."

"Were they?" Loki adjusts the collars of the girls' tunics. "Well, we should allow some silly questions once in awhile. Not too many, mind you, but enough to be charitable. Now how are my darlings today?"

"Fine." Thorunn rolls her eyes with a sigh. "Though Father told us we have to eat nothing but greens for supper."

"Did he?" Loki looks up to see Thor navigating the doorway, balancing several trays of food in his arms. "That sounds like quite a ridiculous thing to say. Even for your Father."

"Thorunn," Thor says, "why don't you tell your Pumi what I _actually_ said, please?"

Thorunn makes a put-upon face. "He said because we ate no greens yesterday, we had to eat some today."

"Now that sounds more sensible. Are you sure it was your Father who said it?" Loki casts an arch look at Thor while the girls giggle.

Thor looks away but says nothing in retaliation. He only sets out the trays on the large ottoman and says, "All right, girls, please eat before it gets cold."

The girls fall upon their meal, Thorunn still grumbling about her greens, Droplaug attempting to console her with the promise of a bite of her cake. Thor watches them for a moment, then makes his way to the bed, where he sits upon the edge as far from Loki as possible.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. Formal. Polite. Chilly.

"Oh, all right." Loki picks at the edge of his bedsheet. "A little tired."

"Would you like to eat? I brought you a tray, too."

"Not just yet. Why don't you eat it?"

Thor turns away. "I'm not hungry."  

Bridget will skin Loki alive if he allows this particular bit of madness to continue. "Thor," he says, "you can't keep going on like this."

"I don't know what you mean," Thor says.

Loki is about to release a torrent of words that will explain exactly what he means, but he's halted by what he sees out of the corner of his eye: Thorunn picking up a soggy lump of greens from her tray and cupping it in her hand. As covertly as a child of nine can (meaning, not at all) she tries to stuff them under a large floor pillow. Of course Loki sees the entire thing, and so too does Thor, for he gets to his feet with an exasperated groan.

"Thorunn!"

The girl looks up at him with wide eyes. "Yes?"

"What are you doing!?"

She stares up at Thor, then looks down to the greenish puddle that's leaking out from under the pillow, and her hand still stuck underneath it.

"Nothing?" she says.

"That is not even remotely close to the truth," Thor says. He picks up the pillow and uncovers the extent of the mess. Loki winces. That garish shade of green won't come out of the carpet easily, that's for certain. Thor makes a noise of disgust at the sight.

"Well, I didn't want to eat them!" Thorunn cries. "I told you, I don't like greens. You wouldn't listen."

"I did listen. And I decided that, though they may not be your favorite, it's important for you to at least try to—" Thor sighs, pressing the heel of his hand to his face. "Fine. You win. I can't force you to eat them. But you must clean up this mess right now before the stain sets."

"No," Thorunn says with an airy sniff.

"Sister—" Droplaug pleads.

"No! I'm not going to do it." Thorunn stands at her full height, barely coming to Thor's waist. "You can't force me to. You can't force me to do anything!"

Thor places his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Please take a breath. Remember what we talked about?"

"I don't care!" she shouts up at him. "You're nothing but a stupid boor! It doesn't matter what you say!"

"Thorunn!" Loki climbs out of bed with great haste, holding his side where the pain flares terribly, and kneels down by his daughter. He takes her by the shoulders, turning her away from Thor. "What's gotten into you?"

Thor holds his hand out, palm down, as if that would be enough to stop him. "Loki, it's all right."

"No, it's not all right," Loki snaps. Then, to his darling girl, his usually sweet cherub, he says, "You cannot speak to your Father—your _King_ —in that manner."

"Why shouldn't I?" Thorunn says. "You do it all the time."

Loki is so taken aback, his sharp breath rings loud in the sudden silence of the room. He struggles to find words to answer her, looking to Thor for guidance. But Thor will not meet his eyes, staring only at his own feet, arms crossed over his chest. Droplaug is not much help either; she merely nods in quiet agreement.

"Well, I—" Loki tries. "That is—" He works his tongue in his dry mouth.

"Am I wrong?" Thorunn's voice holds a challenge.

I must make myself softer, Loki reminds himself with a sigh. He touches her gathered braids and smiles sadly. "No, precious. You're right. I need to improve on my manners. I should not speak so thoughtlessly to the ones I love." He gathers her little hands in his and looks into her huge golden eyes. "I am trying very hard to do better. Sometimes I am not so successful, but…" He shrugs. "Perhaps we can try together."

Thorunn eyes him with some suspicion. "Together?"  

Thor turns away from them, a hand going to his mouth. Loki glances at him, but must focus his attention back on Thorunn.

"Yes, dearheart. We can keep each other honest. Would you do that with me?"

A quick, fierce nod. "I can try, I guess."

Loki looks to Thor once more. His shoulders shudder with each breath he takes. He still does not turn around, giving Loki nothing but a view of his broad back.

"Father?" Droplaug gets to her feet and goes to Thor, her hand curling in the fabric of his breeches. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine, Droplet," he says in a voice that is anything but. One big hand rests on the top of her head. "You don't need to fret over me."

"But I do," Droplaug says, and presses her cheek to Thor's leg. "I worry about you, and about Pumi, and about Thorunn. I want to help but it seems like nothing can be done. Everyone is so heavy all the time—I don't know how to make things lighter for you."  

"But it's not up to you to fix everything," Thor says. "Remember?" His hand combs over her hair in a gentle caress.

Loki watches them and thinks, if nothing else, Thor is a good Father to his girls. He is patient and loving and warm with them. Where did he learn such things? Certainly not from Odin.

Droplaug takes Thor's hand from her head and presses it to her cheek. "I remember. It's just hard," she says, and leans further into his touch.

Loki feels tears gathering at his eyes at the sight, and he nearly looks away, but then Droplaug nudges Thor's long sleeve further up his arm in order to hold more of his hand in hers. And Loki sees the thin circlet of black hair Thor still wears braided around his wrist.

He stops breathing. He hadn't noticed. How could he not notice?

He's been such a fool.

Thor swallows loudly. "Thorunn," he says, at last turning to arch a brow at the girl, "will you please clean up that mess now?"

"Yes, Father," she sighs. Loki gives her a warning look, and she adds, "Sorry."

She casts a simple spell, a wave of her hand, and the entire thing is wiped away as if it never happened. Loki sees this, impressed with her growing skill and wondering if other things might be erased so easily.

He has so much work to do.

"Girls," he says, "you should return to your lessons for the afternoon. Take the trays with you, please. Come here." He gathers them close and kisses their heads. "I love you. Study well. Say farewell to your Father too."

Droplaug practically leaps into Thor's embrace, and Thorunn deigns to receive his kiss to her forehead. He ushers them out the door with reminders for their evening chores—apparently their quarters need tidying—and reminders that he loves them. When the door shuts, Thor rests a hand upon it, leaning there like he's been sapped of his last bit of strength.   

"Why would you lie to the children like that?" he asks the wall.

"What are you talking about?" Loki stands and hobbles back to the bed, sitting heavily on the side of it. "I did not lie."

"You said—" Thor laughs, a sorrowful sound. "Am I supposed to be one of the loved ones you spoke of? The ones you mean to treat with more kindness?"

Loki bristles. "That is what I said."

"Then you lie," Thor says, turning to him, eye red with unshed tears. "Loki, I know you don't love me anymore."

A poison-tipped arrow would have been kinder. Loki fights to remain sitting upright, head spinning. "What? When did I ever say that?"

"Every moment since you returned." Thor pushes away from the wall, stalking toward the bed while pointing at the ground. "You said it in the way you scoffed at me, and dismissed me, and knocked me away like I was dirt on your boots. How can I pretend you love me when you act this way?"

"Oh! Well, if we're discussing the way we've been acting lately," Loki retorts, "let's go over the entire thing, shall we? Am I wrong to be wary of the man who sent me away from his side? From my home? From my _life_?"

Thor holds his head in his hands and curls into himself, letting loose a roar of frustration. "I have tried to talk to you about this, to apologize for what I've done, but you wouldn't hear of it! What can I do to appease you? Because I have tried everything I can think of."

"Hm, what would appease me?" Loki taps a finger to his chin in a mockery of thinking. What is the most outrageous thing he could demand of Thor? Something Thor would never allow? A humiliation that could not be borne. Loki shrugs, deciding. "Perhaps if I shave your hair down to the scalp. That might dampen some of my anger."

"Fine." Thor holds his arms wide. "Get the shears and do it. Do whatever you need, Loki."

He can barely listen to the absolute buffoon. Loki smacks his palm against the mattress, making the bed rattle. "Why are you talking like this? Where is your pride? I'm sick of it; you cannot play the martyr, Thor; you're too late to take that role! Stand your ground and defend yourself, damn you!"

"How can I defend myself?" Thor shouts. "The last time I told you how much you'd hurt me, I nearly lost you forever!" He breathes heavily in the silence of the room, his chest working in and out like a bellows. "Even now that you're here," he says in a whisper, "I've still lost you."

He breaks. Right there in front of Loki's eyes. His fists come up to press into his eye sockets and he sobs, curled over nearly double, grief made godlike in its form. Loki's heart, already broken beyond repair, aches at the sight.

"Thor…" He opens his arms. "Come here. Come—"

Thor collapses beside him, letting Loki wrap him in a shaky embrace. Loki holds him close. Pets his hair. Shushes him, but with no force behind it. He weathers the storm of Thor's weeping, joining him in it, until the worst has passed for them both.

"What did I say when I made my vows to you?" Loki says into Thor's ear. "Do you remember the words? I wrote them down in case you forgot; they were meant to be carried with you."

Thor wipes a hand across his tear-ravaged face. "How could I carry the dagger you'd given me after all I've done? I wasn't worthy of it."

Ah. So it wasn't forgotten in a drawer after all. Loki blinks away his own tears, letting them slide down his cheek. Such fools, the both of them.

"Putting that aside for the moment," Loki says, "what did I promise? How long have I loved you, Thor?"

"Since before you could speak the word," Thor recites.

"And how long will I keep loving you?"

A pained bark of laughter. "Until your last breath. Which, Gods forgive me, Loki— I watched you take that last breath." Thor hangs his head, crying softly. "Your love for me died that day. And I have no one to blame but myself."

"No." Loki takes Thor's hand in his, presses it to the soft fabric of his tunic, over his heart, over his gasping lungs. "You're wrong, so wrong. I breathe still. Do you feel it?"

Thor's hand trembles on his chest. "But it's too late," he says. "The things I've done— The ways we've hurt each other—"

"I'm telling you, there's still time." Loki frames Thor's face, that beloved face, in his palms, lifting his head so their gazes might meet. They could always speak best with just a look. He hopes it's still true, and that Thor can see how deeply he believes. How fiercely he still loves. "It may not be simple, it may not be easy, but you said I had an eternity if I needed it. Would you spend that eternity with me, even if every moment might be a struggle?"

"Of course I would. That's not even a question." Thor's hands grasp for his own face, cupping his jaws, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "But Loki, I do not deserve—"

"Yes we do," Loki says. "We cannot keep denying ourselves any small chance at happiness just because we've made mistakes. We must agree on that, or else none of this will amount to anything."

Thor nods, still weeping. "I am so sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Loki holds him close. He rests his chin on Thor's shoulder and closes his eyes.  

They stay like that for a long time, a very long time. When Thor pulls free of Loki's arms to wipe the last of his tears away, he looks as drained as Loki feels. It is a strange place they find themselves, on the battlefield in the midst of a truce. Closer than they'd been, far from where they need to be.

"I should—" Thor says, looking around the room. "I'll go. Let you get some rest. You need your sleep."  

Loki hums in thought. "When was the last time you slept?" He cocks his head. It occurs to him that Thor hasn't shared the room with him during his convalescence. "Where _do_ you sleep, anyway?"

Thor drags his hands down his beard with a sigh. "Here and there. Sometimes late at night I doze for a few minutes in the chair in the Great Hall. There's just been so much to do…." He shakes his head.

Loki frowns. "Well, it shows. You look like dogshit." He waits to make sure that Thor's tired grin is real before adding, "And I mean that in the most caring way possible."

"Yes. I know." Thor bobs his head.

Loki thinks for a moment before easing back into bed, slipping under the blankets and arranging the pillows in the proper order. "Right. Well, I am completely exhausted. I might sleep through dinner, to be honest."

"Sounds like a good idea. I'll leave you to it," Thor says, rising to his feet with a crack of his spine. He hisses and rubs his lower back as he takes a step to the door.

Loki swallows. No time like the present to start an eternity. "Thor?" he calls.

Thor stops and turns. "Yes?"

Loki lifts up the bedsheets in one hand, an open invitation. He watches Thor's face closely, but all he sees is confusion. Then, a glimmer of hope. Thor sits back down on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure Loki is still holding up the sheets for him. He crawls into bed slowly, carefully, keeping his distance, staying on his own side.

Loki reaches for him, fingers brushing fingers. "Come here," he says, and Thor does.

They twine together under the covers, both still clothed but for their boots. Thor rests his head on Loki's chest, ear pressed to the very center of it. Loki tucks his nose in Thor's hair and breathes.

"May I ask you something?" Thor's voice is a rumble in the quiet of their little cocoon.

Loki shifts against him, already on the verge of sleep. "Mm, what is it?"

"When you died," Thor says slowly, "what was it like? In Valhalla, I mean. Did Mother and Father greet you? Did you see my old companions?"

Loki considers this for a long, silent moment. Then he says, voice filled with warmth, "It was the most beautiful place you could imagine. Everyone was there, and they were happy."

"Oh." Thor lets out a relieved sigh. "That is good to hear. Thank you."

Loki tightens his hold on Thor. This is one lie, he thinks, that is kinder than the truth, and so he does not feel too guilty in telling it. He would rather protect Thor, as tender as he is right now, than be an upstanding bastion of honesty.

He doesn't lose any sleep over it. It's the best sleep he's had in days, in fact, deep and dreamless and lasting long past dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't talk. Writing too fast. Must finish before IW. 
> 
> Almost there.


	22. Chapter 22

Loki makes his way down the hall, his black staff tapping out a note on the metal floor with each step. He's fatigued from just the few hours he's spent out of bed, but it was necessary—a visit to the healing room to help where he could, a stop at the children's lessons to demonstrate a tricky incantation, an unplanned chat with Korg and some of the other non-Asgardians about their own home worlds. They wanted to know whether the Ark could take them there once the Grandmaster had been delivered to his destination, since the tesseract could now make that possible.

He needs to discuss that last one with Thor; the aliens' petitions were sound, but some of their planets are not peaceful. Should they decide to venture there, it will take some careful navigation to keep their ship safe.

Loki is already forming his half of the conversation in his mind, knowing what Thor will likely say, how eager he will be to perform this task. He will love the idea of ferrying people back to their homes, but he will listen to Loki when he lays out all the obstacles. They will have to form a plan that pleases most parties.

A small smile crosses Loki's lips as he imagines it. Lately when they've talked of practical matters—the ship, their people, the girls' upbringing—they have been in total sync. It has taken time, but they are finally regaining some of their old ease with each other, bolstered by a new layer of understanding. When Loki looks at Thor now, he sees his equal. He can only hope Thor sees the same.

Loki opens the door to their quarters—truly theirs again, now that Thor is no longer spending his days and nights pacing the ship alone. It's not the unholy mess it once was, but the room has become more lived-in over the last few days. Thor's piles of tablets and parchments sit on a corner of the desk; Loki's ornaments and jewelry lay scattered on the vanity where he'd last taken them off, too exhausted to put them away in their drawer. 

He props the staff in the corner. Hopefully in the next day or so he will not need it anymore, but waves of weakness still come at times and so he is glad Thor brought it to him. He unclasps his cloak from his shoulders and drapes it across the bed. No sense in folding it away. He'll wear it again at dinner, which is not far off. 

He dithers with a few of his creams and ointments at his vanity table before selecting a dark nail varnish. His grooming has suffered lately and he's keen to correct that. He's in the middle of applying the second coat when he hears the door open behind him.

"There you are," he says, turning to greet Thor. "I was wondering— What in the Nine happened to you?"

Thor stands in the doorway, his burgundy tunic sodden with splotches of some thick black fluid. He gives Loki a rueful smile. "A mishap with one of the Hasseean food machines. Don't worry;  it looks awful, but it smells strangely of fresh pears." He ducks into the room and closes the door behind him. As promised, the scent of a fruit basket follows him. "I've only come for a change of clothes, then I must return to the mess hall, which is truly living up to its name today."

Loki rolls his eyes. It's the sort of joke only Thor could get away with, as charming as he can be. "Well, take care not to drip on the carpet." He turns back to the vanity and concentrates on painting the black varnish in a neat stroke up his thumbnail. 

"Of course." Thor passes by the vanity and opens up one of their drawers, digging about in a stack of fresh tunics. The filthy one he's currently wearing hikes up a bit as he does so, showing a thin strip of golden skin and, there at Thor's belt, their wedding dagger, once more in its rightful place. 

Loki sees it and smiles before returning his attention to his work, pleased beyond words. 

"Is this one mine?" Thor asks, holding aloft a huge handful of grey wool. 

"Do you think I would wear such a thing? I'd be swimming in it. Yes, it's yours," Loki says. 

Thor grins, tossing the clean tunic on the ottoman and reaching for the hem of the one he's wearing. "I think you'd look very nice, swimming in my clothes." 

It's not even close to the most risque thing Thor has ever said to him, but for some reason, that small confession—that Thor would enjoy seeing Loki wear his shirts—brings a flush to Loki's cheeks. A flush of pleasure, surely, at hearing a little of Thor's old arrogant teasing. It's been far too long since they bantered like this. That's all it is.

"I'd look ridiculous," Loki says. He tries to concentrate on his nails but his hand falters and the varnish drips onto his skin. Damn. He'll have to fix that one later. 

Thor's smile widens, but he doesn't argue. He turns and lifts his tunic over his head to shrug out of it, muscles bunching in his arms and back as he moves. Loki takes a moment to admire that wonderful physique, especially when Thor bends over to pick up the grey tunic. 

Thor looks up and catches his eye. "Something wrong?" he asks as he shakes the shirt open. His bare chest is quite distracting.

Loki's eyes dart away. "Not at all." He finishes painting his little finger and caps the bottle of varnish. "Oh, I meant to tell you, Korg and some of his friends approached me today regarding our next destination. Perhaps we can discuss it at dinner?" He puckers his lips and blows a cool stream of air over his fingernails to hasten their drying. 

Thor is staring at him, but he says nothing in reply. The shirt is still bunched in his hands. It will get wrinkled at that rate. 

Loki stops blowing. "Thor? Did you hear me?"

"What? Yes." Thor blinks. "At dinner. Or, if you would rather, I could bring our meals here so we could discuss it in private while we eat." He shoves his head into the shirt and tugs it down over his torso. Loki is sad to see it covered again.

"You don't have to go through any trouble," he says. "After all, I've had my fill of eating in bed for the time being." He rearranges a few vials on the tabletop, catching Thor's crestfallen look. "Unless you'd prefer—?"

Thor waves his hand.  "No, no. It's fine." He picks up his filthy tunic from where it lies inside-out on the carpet and chucks it into their hamper. "Don't forget, the girls are moving into their new quarters today." 

"Ah, that's right." Loki flicks through his mental schedule. They'd decided a few days ago that Thorunn and Droplaug should take a room closer to their own, the better for their little family to see each other as much as possible. The chamber directly across the hall from theirs had been requisitioned for that purpose, and its occupants had been happy to make the switch. The Princesses were looking forward to it. They had even secured Loki and Thor's permission to arrange the room to their liking. 

Loki hopes the girls will make sensible choices; he recalls going through a phase as a child where he'd decorated his own palace rooms with far too many furs in shades of pale cream. It smelled like a kennel. He shivers at the memory.

The timepiece on the wall shows that it's nearly the end of the ship's artificial afternoon. "The children's lessons will be over in a few minutes. I should go collect them," Loki says. 

Thor tips his chin down at Loki's hands, which are splayed on the glass tabletop. "Have they dried?"

Loki considers his fingertips. "Not yet. Ugh, I don't want to ruin them clutching at my staff." 

"I can get the girls," Thor says with a shrug. "Why don't you stay here and relax for a moment?"

"Are you sure? You don't have to hurry back to your mess in the mess hall?" 

"That can wait. It isn't going anywhere. We'll see you at dinner." Thor strides back toward the door, pausing at the vanity to bend down and press a kiss to the top of Loki's head.

Loki freezes. Thor, too, must realize what he's done and freezes as well. 

They haven't— Not since— 

As far as they've come, affection is not something they've yet reached. They lay in bed together every night now, yes, and they sleep in each other's arms, but they have not dared to go past that. Even this small kiss—innocent and perfunctory—feels like a huge mountain waiting to be climbed. And Loki, standing at its base, cannot see the peak hidden in the clouds. But oh, how he wishes to reach that summit. 

"I'm sorry—" Thor begins.

"Don't be silly." Loki beckons him with a freshly painted fingertip. "Come back down here."

Thor bends at the waist once more, bracing himself on the vanity with one hand. Loki tilts his head and brushes his lips against Thor's bearded cheek. Brief, chaste. But sweeter than anything. 

"I'll see you at dinner," Loki says softly, pulling away. 

"I'll count the minutes," Thor promises. He graces Loki with that boyish grin of his, then takes his leave. 

Loki turns back to his vanity and gazes at himself in the mirror. He can barely suppress his own glowing smile. Is it possible to fall in love anew with someone who's owned your heart your entire life? This feels strangely like the courtship they were never able to enjoy before. 

"Do not ruin this," Loki tells his reflection. "I mean it." 

Once his nails are dry, there is a bit of mundane work to be done, the forms and lists of daily ship life. Then Loki dresses carefully for dinner, braiding a few small strands in his hair. Nothing too complicated, just something more than the everyday. It's important to make an effort—not just for Thor, but for Loki's own sake, and that of their people who might enjoy seeing the King's consort looking less like an invalid.

The dinner gong echoes through the halls outside the door just as Loki is retrieving his staff. He arrives in the mess in time to see the last bits of sweet-smelling black goo being mopped up from the floor by a distressed-looking commoner. Loki stops to give the man an encouraging word—"It's never looked better, honestly."—before scanning the room for Thor and the girls. 

Mealtimes on the Ark have never relied on formality. Whereas during Odin's rule it would have been unthinkable for the Allfather to eat and drink among the common people, there is no table here set aside for the royal family. Loki had questioned that at the very beginning of their journey, but Thor had said, and rightly so, that they should not expect much special treatment on the ship.

"They gave me my own chair in the Great Hall," Thor had pointed out. "That is enough, I think, for the sort of King I mean to be."

Loki spies Thor's golden head in the sea of people and makes his way over to him. Thorunn and Droplaug are seated opposite, and they greet Loki with kisses before he sits in the spot next to Thor that's been saved for him. 

"You look really nice, Pumi," Droplaug says. "How come?"

Loki gives a startled laugh. "Well, my dear—" 

"Your Pumi always looks very nice," Thor says. Glancing sideways at Loki, he adds, "Though you do look particularly lovely tonight."

Thorunn makes a rude noise, making Droplaug laugh. "Soppy," she mutters while poking at her greens. 

"There's nothing wrong with soppy, my darling," Loki says. "Now are you going to eat a bite of that or do you plan to pulverize it to mush on your plate?"

The girl pouts but dutifully puts a forkful in her mouth. Her sister pats her on the shoulder, grinning.

"Was that so hard?" Droplaug asks.

"Yes." Thorunn swallows. "But I've done it."

"And I am very proud of you," Thor says. He sips at his cup of wine and turns to Loki. "What was it you needed to discuss with me? Something about Korg?"

"Ah, yes." Loki picks up his utensils and goes to work on his own meal. "Some of our alien friends have asked if we might take them to their home worlds when convenient. I'm all in favor of doing so, of course, but we must consider a few things."

Thor nods. "Such as a fair way to decide who might be taken home first." 

Loki chews, humming and gesturing with his knife. He swallows to continue. "That, and how we are to approach some of these planets who might not appreciate Asgardians in their airspace. Korg's home world, for example, has no love for us. Flying there could be dangerous if we are not careful."

"When we are Queens," Thorunn says suddenly, "Droplaug and I will not be frightened of anything. We'll be the most powerful sorcesses in the Nine Realms, and no one will be able to harm Asgard." 

Loki blinks across the table at her. "I'm sorry, precious. What are you talking about?" 

"When we are Queens," Droplaug repeats for her sister. She looks between her parents. "Is that not what will happen when we inherit Father's kingdom?"

A whisper aside to Thor: "Did you talk to them about the line of succession without me?"

"No, of course not." Clearing his throat, Thor addresses the girls. "Darlings, ruling a kingdom is not an easy task. When my time is done, someone will need to be responsible for all of it. Not just keeping Asgard from harm, but other worlds as well. Your Pumi and I have been meaning to discuss it with you, for it is a big decision that we'd like you to—"

"Oh, we've already discussed it between ourselves." Thorunn points her thumb at herself, then her sister. "It's fairly clear, isn't it?"

"We understand that it's a serious responsibility," Droplaug says with a nod, "but we love Asgard just as we love the both of you, and we know when we are older we will have to carry on your work." 

"Well, that is— That is very mature of you, but—" Loki looks wildly at Thor, hoping for guidance. 

Thor nods quickly and says, "But there is something called the line of succession. That means a plan for who will rule if something happens to me, and who will rule if something happens to that next person, and so on. Do you understand?" He hesitates. "Only one of you can sit on the throne."

"Why?" Thorunn asks. 

"Because—" Thor looks to Loki for help now. 

"Because that is the way it's always been done," he says. 

"So?" Droplaug shrugs. 

Loki adopts a forced smile. "Girls, it's very sweet, this idea of yours, but I'm afraid you cannot rule together. It just wouldn't be…." Proper? No, that's not it. Why can't he find the words?

"Practical," Thor finishes for him. "If both of you were to marry and have children, for example, how would you decide who would inherit the kingdom from you?"

"Well, we would have to talk it over in that case," Thorunn says as if explaining something to a small child, "just as we're talking things over now."

"That's not—" Loki thinks back to all the jealousy and the despair he'd felt in his younger years, knowing Thor was destined for the throne. Knowing that he would be left behind. "Dearhearts, power can be very intoxicating. It can make you do things, very bad things, to try to get more of it. You're young still; you don't understand how becoming a ruler might change you."

"All the more reason to do it together," Thorunn says. "Isn't that right, Drop?"

Droplaug is quiet for a moment, deep in thought, her dark eyes looking at something far away. "We have always been stronger together," she says at last. "I am older only by a few months; I do not think that would make me a better Queen than Thorunn. She is strong in ways that I am not, and I can protect her in ways she cannot protect herself. If ruling is as difficult as I imagine, I would not like to do it without her. You're always saying we must leave behind some of the old traditions. Maybe this is one of them." 

"Yes, but two Queens?" Loki shakes his head. "Two rulers, equal in power?"

"It's not impossible," Droplaug says, "if we are willing."

A blue glow appears at the corner of Loki's eye. He turns, wondering if something has gone wrong and the tesseract has been brought here. But the light is not the tesseract's. It is the deep blue of Droplaug's seidr, formed into a huge stag of many horns, stepping softly through the forest of tables. It holds its head high as it walks. All around them, the room falls into silence. 

The stag turns to look in Loki's direction. He sees how old a creature it is, and how powerful. Then it looks away before disappearing into mist.

"What was...?" Thor asks. 

"Oh, that?" Droplaug eats a bite of her dessert. "He's been appearing for awhile now, mostly at night when I'm trying to sleep. Isn't he lovely? Not as impressive as Thorunn's eagle, but I like him all the same."

Loki shares a look with Thor. The same pride and love he feels for the children is painted there on Thor's face. He needs Thor to understand what this means, and his heart races to find he does. Their children are destined for greatness.

"They should," Loki says, and Thor speaks the rest with him, "rule together." 

"Good. I'm glad we got that out of the way." Thorunn nods, businesslike. "Now onto more pressing matters: do future Queens really have to eat nasty vegetables?" She pokes her food with her fork.

"I'm afraid they have to eat double portions," Thor says with a faux-serious frown. "I'm sorry. It is tradition."

"But we just agreed tradition is stupid," Thorunn moans. 

"Not this one." Thor taps the edge of her plate. "One more bite, please."

She stuffs her mouth full of greens and chews noisily, glowering at Thor in a way that verges on breaking into a wide grin. Thor laughs from deep in his belly, and Droplaug hides her own smile in her serviette. 

Loki watches this, in awe of where he's found himself. Perhaps his heart is salvageable after all, for it overflows for his little family in this moment. They love each other. What a strange, impossible thing. 

His hand seeks out Thor's under the table, clasping it atop Thor's thigh. Thor stops laughing to turn to him, lips parted, eye wide. That gentle, warm smile spreads across his face, making him seem years younger. His fingers squeeze Loki's. 

They finish their meal and put the children to bed in their new quarters. The room is still  bare save for the tiny painting of Loki held on the metal hull with a few magnets. Thorunn asks if the artist might paint one of their Father so they can have a matched set, and Thor suggests they all sit for a portrait together sometime soon. The children are so excited about that idea, they can barely manage to lay down in their beds. 

Loki and Thor take turns kissing the girls goodnight and then take their leave, clicking off the lights as they go.

"We haven't even had time to discuss Korg's request," Thor says, holding the door open for Loki as they enter their own quarters. 

"True." Loki puts away his staff, then begins taking off his jewelry. His eyes feel so heavy. It's frustrating; every time he thinks he's fully recovered his body makes its own stance on the subject very clear. "Do you think it can wait until tomorrow? Oh, thank you." Loki drops his own hands as Thor steps behind him to unclasp his necklace.

"My pleasure. Yes, why don't we worry about it in the morning?" Thor places the freed necklace on the vanity. His hands go to Loki's shoulders, kneading there just a bit. "You seem tired."

Loki nods, half in agreement, half so that Thor's fingers can find more spots on the back of his neck to massage. "I'm looking forward to regaining my full strength. This is intolerable." His breath catches as Thor find a knot and undoes it skillfully. "Well, except for this bit. This bit I can tolerate."

"Do you think you will only be doted upon when you're feeling unwell?" He can hear the smile on Thor's lips, hovering so close to the nape of his neck.

"Well, I suppose I might expect my husband to dote upon me every day, but I wouldn't want to overwork him," Loki sighs. 

Thor's hands still on his shoulders. 

Loki looks back at him. "Why did you stop?"

Thor seems to shake himself out of a dream. His hands leap back into motion. "It's nothing."

"No, none of that. Not now," Loki says, and spins around, out of Thor's grip. "What's wrong?"

Thor blows a breath out of his mouth, his hands on his hips. "You called me husband," he says to the floor. "I wasn't sure you'd still—" He shrugs one shoulder, his single eye blinking much too fast. 

Oh. Still so far to go. They've been so careful with their words, slow to say the things they used to say. Perhaps, Loki thinks, they fear entering in the same cycle as the one that resulted in so much pain. But he never meant for Thor to doubt this, and he hates himself for it.

Loki takes Thor's hand. His fingertips trace the braid of hair Thor wears on his wrist. 

"Give me some token that lasts longer than bread," he whispers, "and I will wear it so you may know that I still—" He swallows. "I still." 

Thor's head falls forward. "I didn't dare ask you to wear my emblem. I could hear you in my head, lamenting about being branded like a cow." 

Loki smiles at that. "Perhaps I would have said such a thing before, but look at us now. You wear my braid; you wear my dagger. It's only right that I wear something of yours." 

"Is it?" Thor licks his lips, raising his head. "What would you like? A ring? Precious jewels? Something more practical, like a weapon?" 

"You don't have to decide on something tonight. Surprise me," Loki says, squeezing Thor's hand before releasing it. 

"And if I choose poorly?"

"You couldn't." Loki leans in a touch closer. Is this it? Is tonight the night they take this step together? He hasn't tasted Thor's lips in so long, and now it's all he can think about.

Yet he fears being the first to move. Some small part in him, as foolish as it is, fears making a misstep. If they have to start all over again, Loki isn't sure he could take the strain.

His eyelids flutter. Oh, dear. This is not the time to faint.

"You're dead on your feet," Thor murmurs. He takes him by the arm and steers him toward the bed. "Come on. Let's get you settled."

Loki sits on the edge of the bed, feeling mocked by the universe. Thor retrieves Loki's sleeping robes, his favorite ones with the gold embroidery, and lays them out on the bed beside Loki.

"Here, let me take your cloak," he says, and unclasps the thing from Loki's shoulders. 

"I feel very much like a doll." Loki can't keep the trace of bitterness from his voice. "I hate being helpless like this."

"You're not helpless. You're allowing me to dote, as we agreed." Thor turns to fold away the cloak in a drawer, taking too much time to fiddle with the other articles he finds there. Loki realizes it's a ploy meant to give him some privacy to change into his sleeping robes. Sweet, but also maddening. 

He shrugs out of his tunic and breeches and slides on the silky robes. "Are you not coming to bed?" he asks Thor, who is still making a show of closing up the drawer.

"It's early for me yet." Thor nods to his pile of tablets on the desk. "And there is so much work to do."

"I know, but—" Loki tucks a lock of hair back into place behind his ear. "I tend to sleep easier when you are beside me." 

Thor seems to think about that, then nods. "All right," he says, soft and quiet in the stillness of their room. 

Loki watches him remove his boots and his belt, placing his dagger carefully on the vanity. He thinks of the times before, when they first began sharing this room and Thor would come to bed wearing nothing at all. It's how he's always preferred to sleep, even when they were youths, but tonight—as he has for every night recently—Thor does not take off his clothes. He turns off the lights and slips under the sheets, thanking Loki as he scoots over to make room. Together they curl into their usual position: Thor's head on his chest, Loki's arm around his broad shoulder. 

These things take time, Loki reminds himself. It is better to wait until Thor is ready. For now, this will be enough. More than he could have hoped for. His sore heart twinges in his chest, and he prays it keeps its peace. 

"Goodnight," he says into Thor's hair. 

"Sleep well," Thor murmurs into the silk of his robe. 

Loki wants to say more, so much more, but his eyes close and he is asleep before he can form the words. 

And then he's awake. 

Loki's eyes snap open as he tries to make sense of his wakefulness. He's no longer on his back, holding Thor. Their positions have been reversed, somewhat. He now lays flat on his belly, stretched out over Thor like a living blanket with Thor's arms wrapped around him. It's boiling hot pressed against his husband under the weight of the bedclothes, and for a moment Loki thinks it must be that discomfort which woke him.

But it's not the heat. It's Thor. 

Thor's mouth is open and panting at Loki's throat, his hips thrusting steadily up against his body. Loki can feel, even through all their layers of clothing, the strain of Thor's hard cock. One of Thor's hands travels down Loki's spine to palm one cheek of his ass, kneading it possessively, filthily. Loki gasps in the dark, a damp huff of air against Thor's shoulder. 

Finally, at last. "Thor," he whispers. He lifts his gaze to Thor's face, a portrait of desire, his one eye closed in pleasure.

No. Not pleasure. Thor is still asleep. It's obvious now that Loki is a little more awake; Thor's touch is clumsy, his sounds, too ragged. He's not really here at all. 

Loki nearly cries in frustration. His own prick dribbles fluid against his stomach, hard where it nudges against Thor's through their clothes. This isn't fair. This is torture. But he has to do the proper thing and end it.

"Thor," he says, louder. 

"Mmm." Thor's lips close over his pulse, a slow, deliberate kiss. "Yes, my love?"

"Wake up," Loki says. "You're dreaming."

All at once, Thor's powerful hips come to a stop. His hands cease their wanderings. And Thor takes in a sharp, pained breath, his eye flying open. 

"Wait—"

But Thor is already moving away, rolling out from underneath Loki to sit on the edge of the mattress, his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he says. "Please forgive me. I didn't—"

"It's all right." Loki reaches out to touch the hard line of his shoulder. It's like caressing a stone, Thor is so tense. "Come back to bed." 

"It's not all right." Thor drops his hands to his thighs, gripping the muscles there tightly. "I should be stronger than this."

"I don't need you to be stronger," Loki protests. He presses against Thor's back, his arms winding around that heaving chest. "I need you to come back to bed. I need you to— To call me your love again. I've missed that. I've missed you. Thor, please, I need—"

Thor's hand is in his hair, his head turning so that one brilliant blue eye can see him. "I've missed you too," he whispers, and kisses Loki so deeply, Loki is certain he must be dreaming as well. 

He has to be. Thor is touching him, holding him, laying him back down in the warm sheets, kissing him and kissing him and not letting go. 

"Say it." Loki nips at his chin. "Please say it."

"You're my love," Thor says, his hands buried in Loki's hair. "My love, my love, my love, my love." 

"You're my love as well, remember?" Loki touches his face. "My sweet husband. My heart's keeper. I thought we might dance around it for another century."

"I would not have lasted," Thor groans. He presses himself against Loki, letting him feel the thickness of his cock. "The nights I spent sleeping by your side, wanting you, not knowing if you'd ever welcome me again—"

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Why didn't you?"

Loki stares up at Thor, open-mouthed, before bursting into laughter. Thor's face splits into a grin. 

"We're hopeless fools, aren't we?" Loki says. 

"Entirely, my love," says Thor, and bends to kiss him again. 

They peel the clothing from each other's bodies, each layer discarded to the floor. The only light comes from the stars outside their window, and Loki watches in fascination as Thor's skin is revealed and painted in silvers and whites. He might believe he's actually dreaming after all, except none of his dreams were as perfect as this. 

They flip again, Loki astride Thor's hips. He places a palm on Thor's chest, feeling the fierce beat of his heart beneath solid muscle. "How would you have me?" he asks. "Ah, I know." His hands fall to the laces of Thor's breeches, unknotting them with frantic fingers. Thor deserves a reward for his long wait. 

"Loki?" Thor sighs as he wriggles back to settle between Thor's spread thighs. "You don't need to—"

"What's the matter?" He takes Thor's hard prick in his hand and grins wickedly. "Don't you want to use my mouth?" His tongue snakes out to lick away the bead of fluid at Thor's slit before he engulfs it entirely. Thor makes a broken sound, and Loki smiles to himself, working his lips up and down the curved shaft. 

"Ah, love, please." Thor's hand tightens in his hair, and at first Loki is sure he will use that grip to guide even more of his cock down Loki's throat, but he's mistaken. Thor tugs at his hair until he pulls away, his lips slick with spit. 

"You don't like it?" Loki asks, unable to sound anything but petulantly hurt.  

"I do, of course I do. It's only—" Thor shakes his head. His hand softens in Loki's hair, slipping down to cup his cheek. "Tonight, let us be gentle with each other."

Loki nods, hiding his concern as best he can. "All right." He gnaws at his lip. "You might have to show me how."

"Come here." Thor hauls him back up the length of his body until he's blanketing Thor. It's even better when they're both awake and naked. Thor's hips rut up against him, slow, strong, pressing their pricks together and smearing fluid along their bellies. "Beautiful," Thor says to himself, his hand trailing down Loki's slack jaw. "Is it good?"

"It is." Loki chases Thor's thumb, sucking it into his mouth and making him moan. He pulls off with a slurp. "But I need you inside me. Please, it's been too long."

Thor's hand go to his hips, holding him steady. "I fear for your health," he says. "You are not yet at your full strength, and I don't want to hurt you."

"I won't be hurt," Loki says, though he knows it's foolish to promise such a thing. "Please." He grinds down on Thor's thick cock, desperate for it to be elsewhere. 

Thor seems to be fighting a battle within himself. "Would my fingers be enough?"

"Yes, anything! Only fill me, and if you must be gentle, tell me it is out of love and not because you enjoy seeing me fall apart." Loki applies his mouth to Thor's neck and shoulder, unable to get enough of his skin. 

"Perhaps it's both," Thor laughs. "Although I do love you more than anything, even the pleasure of seeing you beg." 

"Prove it," Loki snaps. "Get the oil."

Thor looks around the bed. "Where is it?"

"How should I know? You're the one who cleaned the damn place." 

"Right, I know I put it somewhere— Ah!" Thor knocks a hand against the hull above the headboard and a compartment pops open. "See? I remember the important things."

"Do you remember how I feel when you're making love to me?" Loki kisses his ear even as Thor struggles to reach back into the compartment without dislodging them from their warm sprawl. "Do you recall how sweet I can be? How tight I am for you? How well I take your seed?"

"Loki," Thor sighs, "you are making this very difficult." 

"Well." Loki smiles down at him. "That's just my nature." 

Thor gives him a look that makes Loki rock with laughter. Thor's big hand catches him at the back of his neck, holding him still so that Thor can rise up to kiss him. Loki allows it, falls into the rhythm of it so completely, he doesn't realize what Thor has achieved until an oil-slick fingertip is pressing at his entrance. 

"Oh." He lays his cheek on Thor's chest and lets his mouth fall open, feeling Thor's finger breach him even deeper. "Oh, that's lovely." 

"Yes," Thor says, and presses a kiss into his hair. "So lovely."

The finger crooks and delves. Loki cries out, cursing to himself, unable to stop his body from moving back onto Thor's hand, seeking more contact. 

We're being gentle, Loki reminds himself. I must be tender. 

"Let me— Please, I want to touch you," Loki says, and lifts his hips just enough to work a hand between their bodies. He finds Thor's cock, flush and wet against his own, and he takes them both in a slick grip. 

"Yes, touch me," Thor says in his ear. He slips another finger in beside the first. They kiss, their mouths making promises in the dark. Thor's body, limned in silver light, is a sacred land, and Loki maps each plane that he can reach with his lips.

They find their end messily, Thor spending across their bellies, Loki, sitting up to see his handiwork, filled with Thor's fingers, coming off across his chest. Loki collapses atop him, sealing their wet skin together. For a long time they stay like that, panting for air, overheated skin cooling with their sweat, their hands seeking each other in the shadows. 

"We should really wash up," Thor says against Loki's neck after they've regained their powers of speech. 

Loki makes an unhappy noise. "I can hardly walk after that." 

"Aren't you glad I wasn't more vigorous with you?" 

"No. And anyway— Shut up." Loki grabs a pillow and hits it weakly against Thor's damp leg. 

Thor laughs at this and gathers Loki in his arms. "Let me carry you to the bathing chamber. It's late; we would probably be the only ones making use of it." 

Loki considers this. "Just to be safe, I could hide us with an invisibility ward."

"It would not tax you too much?"

"Not at all. Here." Loki gathers his green and gold seidr in his palm and directs it with a thought. A flash, and then— 

"I can still see you," Thor says. 

"Of course you can. We're both sharing the same ward. We can see each other; no one else can see us. Understand?" Loki nips at Thor's ear. 

"How long will it last?"

"Hard to say. I don't have my usual reserve of power." He gives Thor a gentle kick in the side with his knee. "Better hurry." 

"As my love commands," Thor says, and stands with Loki held tightly in his arms. He kisses his cheek noisily, ignoring Loki's protests, before running quite naked from the room, Loki's shouts mingling with his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost.


	23. Chapter 23

"Girls, please! Stand still. Your frocks are a mess." Loki tugs and fidgets with a few wayward layers of silk and lace. "There. Better. Now do you understand what you're to do when the ceremony begins?" 

Thorunn sighs through her nose, looking at the ceiling of the quarters Loki shares with Thor. "Father will walk to the dais first, followed by you, Pumi. Then Droplaug, and I will be last in line."

"Yes, good. Thank you, precious." Loki stands and checks his hair in the mirror for the third time. The braids look fine, as do the little gold ornaments clasped at their ends. He thinks about wearing some of his jewels but decides against it. He and Thor had already agreed not to wear any crowns or circlets. It's not a coronation, after all. Not really. His armor is enough.

Droplaug tugs at Loki's cloak. "Pumi?" she asks. "Why does Thorunn have to go last? I don't like that. It'll look like I think I'm better than she is."

"Darling, we must walk in a line, one right after the other. We agreed to go in order of age, all right?"

"We should go in order of height instead," Droplaug insists. "That way I could go last and Thorunn could walk behind you." 

Thorunn pats her sister's shoulder. "Drop, it's fine. It's doesn't matter to me."

"Well, it matters to me!" The girl looks back up at Loki, tears in her eyes. "It wouldn't be fair. Father says when I'm a Queen I will need to learn to make things fair, and I am trying to get a head start."

Loki groans, casting a glare at Thor, who is lounging on their bed, reading some parchments. His husband is already dressed in his armor and has been ready to go for awhile now, leaving Loki to struggle with their children and their moral quandaries. 

"Love," he says as sweetly as he can in his frazzled state, "could you talk to them please? We're late as it is and I still haven't found my greaves."

Thor lowers the parchment enough to look over at the girls. "Why don't they walk side by side behind us?" he asks. "That way, they can carry the tesseract together. Might be for the best; it's heavy." 

"Oh, fine. Droplet, we'll do as your Father suggests." Loki bustles over to their drawers and digs through the bits of leather and steel until he finds the left greave he'd been seeking. Now where is its twin? He keeps looking. "I wanted a bit of symmetry to today's festivities but if you're adamant—"

"Does that mean I'm sure?" Droplaug frowns. "Because I am very sure."

"It means you're as stubborn as, well— Both your parents, I suppose." Loki finds the second greave with a triumphant cry. He wastes no time in strapping on his last pieces of armor. "Right. Let's go, we wouldn't want to keep the whole ship waiting."

He ushers the girls toward the door but Thor stands and catches him by the elbow. "Darlings, why don't you go ahead?" Thor says. "Heimdall should be at the door to the Great Hall. Go find him and we will be there in a few minutes."

"Everything all right?" Loki asks under his breath.

"Everything's good," Thor says softly in return. Then, to the children, "Go on. We'll be right behind you."

The girls, buoyed by the promise of such a special day, barrel out of the room with happy shouts. Loki watches them go, his heart full. His little Princesses, about to make their first official appearance in front of their people. 

He blinks and returns his attention to Thor. "So what's the matter?"

"Why do you always assume the worst?" Thor asks. 

"Because I'm so often correct." Loki shifts on his feet. "Has something happened?"

"No, love. Nothing terrible." Thor reaches into the folds of his red half-cape and takes something in his hand. "I told you I would give you a token that would last longer than bread. Here, look." 

Thor opens his palm and holds out— 

A rock. 

A very small, dark, charred piece of rock on a silver chain. 

Loki stares at it for a moment, wondering what in the world it's supposed to mean. Thor had mentioned jewels. A ring, perhaps. But this humble little shard, what is Loki supposed to do with that?

"It's…" He squints at it. "What is it?"

"You don't recognize it?" Thor's smile crinkles the corner of his eye. "No, I don't suppose anyone would except myself." He holds the pendant aloft by its chain and touches his fingertip to the piece of stone. White threads of lightning envelop the shard and dance down to Thor's palm. 

Loki watches it, then watches Thor's face for any further clues. "I still don't understand."

"Watch." Thor holds the necklace at arm's length, the rock swinging back and forth. Then Thor holds out his other hand and the rock, as if possessed by some spirit, flies toward it, straining the thin chain to its limits. 

"It's Mjolnir," Loki breathes. "A shard of Mjolnir. How did you—?" 

"I discovered this fragment embedded in my armor before I was stripped on Sakaar," Thor says. "I secreted it away and kept it hidden all that time. Sentiment, I suppose. I thought I'd never be able to part with it, but," he shrugs, "now I want you to have it."

Loki feels tears welling in his eyes. He can't cry now; he's already applied kohl for the ceremony. 

"Thor, I can't take this," he says. 

"Yes you can." Thor holds it out to him once more. "You are my husband. I love you more than I can say. This token is a very small thing compared to all you have given me."

"No, I mean, I literally can't take this," Loki says. "If it's truly Mjolnir, I won't be able to carry it. It won't let me."

"Oh." Thor stares at the pendant he holds. "I, uh, did not think of that."

"Obviously." Loki crosses his arms over his chest. 

Thor cups the fragment in his hands as if testing its heft. After a moment, he holds it out to Loki again. "Try," he says. 

Loki sighs. "I'm going to look like a fool," he mutters, but still holds out his hand and allows Thor to drop the necklace into his palm. He winces. Shuts his eyes. Waits to feel the pain of his arm being dragged down to the ground with enough force to tear it from its socket. 

Nothing happens. 

Loki opens his eyes and sees the necklace sitting demurely in his hand. The pendant—metal, not stone; he sees that now—is a tad warm but otherwise doesn't seem at all strange.

"I can hold it?" His voice comes as a whisper. 

"It likes you," Thor says. "I can tell."

Damn it. He's going to have to redo the kohl around his eyes after all. Loki launches himself at Thor and kisses him soundly on the mouth, the necklace wrapped in his fist. 

"I love you," he says. "Did you know that?"

"I did. And I will never again forget it." Thor takes the necklace and drapes it over Loki's head, setting the piece of Mjolnir over his heart. "The chain is enchanted with enormous strength, so it should be able to hold the shard without breaking. This way, if I call out to it, you'll always be able to find me."

"That's...very clever." Loki looks up at him. "I love you even more somehow." 

"How lucky for me." Thor smiles and wipes away a tear at the corner of Loki's eye with his thumb. "Shall we go to the ceremony?"

"Hold on. I'm a wreck," Loki says, dabbing at his eyes with his fingertips.  

"Nonsense. You've never looked more beautiful." Thor kisses him, one hand cupping the back of Loki's head, the other pressed over the piece of Mjolnir where it rests against Loki's chest. "Come. Our people are waiting."

They make their way hand in hand to the door of the Great Hall, where Heimdall awaits them with the girls. He holds the tesseract, caged in a device of magic and lightning that only Thor and Loki can open together. As they approach, Heimdall hands the cube to the girls, who each take a corner of the device to hold it between them.

"My King." Heimdall bows. "My Prince." Another bow. "Are you ready?" 

"Extremely," Loki says. He squeezes Thor's hand one final time before they part.

The door swings open. The Hall is packed with the ship's citizens, all standing and looking toward them. Someone in the crowd is playing music, something with a joyful, triumphant beat. Thor looks back at Loki and the girls over his shoulder. 

"Just follow me," he says, and smiles. 

The sea of people parts for Thor as he strides forward. Loki walks behind him, gaze passing over the crowd. He knows he shouldn't be surprised to see so many happy faces, but when they are directed at him, it still seems strange. He sees the Valkyrie standing with her apprentices. She winks in his direction and nods to her students. They bow and offer their swords to the royal family as a show of respect as they pass. On the other side of the Hall stands Bridget with her healers. The white robed women offer their hands palm up in their traditional salute. 

Loki also spots the Grandmaster in the crowd, ineffectively disguised by a piece of translucent silk draped over his head. En Dwi waves to him as he passes and flashes a thumbs up. It's only Loki's years of training at court that keep him from laughing out loud.

Thor reaches the steps and turns to offer Loki his hand. Loki takes it, climbing the dais at Thor's side. He glances over his shoulder to check on the girls. They're right behind him with the tesseract, grinning with pride. He gives them a little nod to let them know they've done well, then faces forward once more. 

Thor's chair is no longer the only one installed on the platform. There is a second one now, smaller and a bit more spindly, exactly as Loki had requested. It wouldn't do, he'd told Thor, to have the people think he still lusted after Thor's throne. 

Thor takes the smaller chairback in his hands and turns the chair for Loki to sit. Right before Loki does so, Thor whispers so only he can hear, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather share mine? You can sit on my lap if it pleases you."

Loki smirks over his shoulder at his brother-husband-lover. His King. His family. "Dignity, please," he says. 

"As my love commands," Thor says, and nods to the chair. 

Loki takes his seat, and Thor takes his as well. The girls hand over the tesseract with as much gravitas as they can manage, then stand to the side of Loki's chair. 

Loki looks back at the crowd. He sees his people and everyone he is charged to protect, all gathered and watching him. His eyes find Thor, and at the same time, his strength.

"Ready for another journey?" Thor asks him. 

Their hands melt through the magic and lighting surrounding the tesseract, powering it as one. 

"Yes, my love," says Loki, and together they disappear into the stars. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. 
> 
> I can't believe what an incredible trip this has been. Before I started writing this series, I had stopped writing for a year or more, and I was convinced I might never write again. Then this happened and it's been the strangest experience. There have been times where I felt possessed, like it wasn't really me writing, and I was constantly surprising myself. But maybe I had just bottled up a lot of things that all needed to come out. 
> 
> I have two amazing friends to thank for supporting and encouraging me and also listening to me drunkenly try to explain my plots. [Ark](http://et-in-arkadia.tumblr.com/), you started me writing again with just 500 words a week. I would never have gotten anything done without that. [BTI](http://bewaretheides315.tumblr.com/), I don't think a more kinder or more patient person could exist. I also want to thank my beautiful, amazing wife for letting me rubber duck all my fic problems out loud to her; every good idea in this story is probably something she told me to do (although she'll probably never read this because it doesn't have enough dragons in it for her.... That's okay, I love you baby)! 
> 
> And thank you all who read and kudos'd and commented and shared on tumblr. I can't explain how much it meant to me, the exchanges we've had after each chapter went up. Thank you for coming on this ride. 
> 
> If you're only reading this now that it's complete, I don't blame you, haha! Welcome and I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> If you liked this story and you feel moved to do so, please consider reccing it to someone who also might like it. You can reblog it from [my tumblr](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/173235698451/vows-from-a-dagger-triedunture-thor-movies) if that's easier. 
> 
> Bye for now <3


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